


Teaspoon Collectors, Bottletop Hoarders, Dishcloth Dames

by Harmonica_Smile (Rescue_Remedy)



Series: Law's Collections [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: (Chapters 3 and 4), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Boundaries, Consent Issues, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Law's hobbies, Law/Marco, M/M, Marco/Law, Mention of Cora (Chapter 1), PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rare Pairings, Rated Explicit for content, Recovery, Reflection, Relationship Negotiation, Some Humor, Supplementary to Repossession, Swordbros, character driven, not overly explicit, re-uploaded, respect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rescue_Remedy/pseuds/Harmonica_Smile
Summary: Law's a freak and everybody knows it, but at least he's easy to buy for. Nothing pleases the Heart captain more than a commemorative tea-towel, the tackier the better. Or the day Law visited a tea-towel convention with Nico Robin.Read A/N for background.Re-uploaded and tidied up.





	1. Teaspoon Collectors, Bottletop Hoarders, Dishcloth Dames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story follows on from and reflects back to _[Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29125485)_ (E rating. Parts of it can be harrowing, be warned). At the end of that fic, Marco and Law are partners, and Marco has helped Law through some pretty horrific situations. Read the end notes for more information.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Teaspoon Collectors, Bottletop Hoarders, Dishcloth Dames**

* * *

He could always depend on Robin. Marco pled needing to prep the bar, walk the dogs – they were currently looking after Luffy and Zoro's mutt while they attended the new, improved, Reverie – and wishing to be surprised by whatever crime against humanity Law brought back to the house. Would there even be room? The bungalow was already a floor-to-ceiling shrine to tea-towels.

Robin had always got Law, though. True, she would prefer accompanying him to the morgue to look over and select abnormal body parts for the surgeon to dissect, analyse, and then preserve, like Auntie Mame's pickles. But beggars couldn't be choosers, even if Law's tea-towel hobby was as innocuous as your average plain-faced, boy-next-door, neighbourhood serial killer. The kind who spent far too much time chatting to his rotting mother, tucked into her wizened, cobwebbed and slowly rocking recliner, sequestered in the corner of his room. That's when not quietly terrorising the upright citizens in their weatherboard houses.

She sighed and slipped her arm into his as they left her house. He couldn't help his vibe. Personally, she and a great many of the pirate world who actually knew him found him as sexy as fuck, murderous vibe or no. Innocuous nerdy murderous vibe or no. The rest were ready to label anything he did, from growing vegetables to running his own practice, as creepy as fuck. They didn't know him.

He tipped his head to hers. Wondered if Lamie would be as delightfully twisted if she'd lived to see the day. Although of course, using that line of reasoning, Robin was his older sister, but he never was much of one for defining relationships between adults by age. There was only four years between them.

She held his hand, Kikoku was wrapped in his other. Chopper had been invited. Bepo, Penguin and Shachi too, but they all staved off, citing the important and crucial work they did at Law's clinics. Which they did. Assault centres needed staff to remain operational, without a doubt. But it wasn't as if they couldn't have a day off.

"Boss, I love being featured on them." Shachi puffed out his currently covered chest. His last modelling assignment for the tea-towels had shown him baring his abs. "But I'm not joining you."

The designs featuring Penguin and Shachi were usually well below Chopper's in popularity, and no-one could draw in the coin like Bepo, but that bare-chested one walked out of his clinic. Literally. Or literally in the grip of thieving hands. Law's practice was in the seedier part of town, which harboured its fair share of manhandlers, panhandlers, conmen and spivs, pickpockets, burglars, shoplifters and kin. It was only that Law treated so many, no questions asked, and at a discounted price if they really couldn't pay, that the clinic itself _hadn't_ been broken into a thousand times over.

Stealing the commemorative towels on sale to support the crisis centres Law ran was low though. He'd trained Mercury – rescue dog number three – to growl when someone didn't seem to have a hand on their wallet as well as on Shachi's glistening one hundred thread count body. The receptionist had a pretty good drop tackle on her, and once they figured the Heart pirate's pecs were the hit of the season, they guarded the dish cloths ferociously, and made sure correct recompense was offered for their removal. It all went toward the clinics of course.

And they tried to tell him it was an old biddy's hobby with no hint of excitement.

In his books, a day spent just with Robin was a day more than well spent. The others didn't know what they were missing. The Straw Hat archeologist adored the Heart captain, so it was no hardship on her part either to indulge him in whatever esoteric hobby he was pursuing at the time. She ran her fingers across the stubby nails of his hand, the hardened keratin that had never properly grown back from past torture. Oh god, just to have him near and alive, and also happy, so happy, was nectar to the Ohara survivor. She'd found her own peace many years before life finally fell into sync with Law's own wants and desires.

After the Kid attack, some years ago now, she and Chopper had both visited, and Law came to the island on occasion. They toured some of the galleries as they often did. The tall man was polite and courteous as ever, as sardonic, but his wicked gleam and his confidence were dulled for a while. Law's friends weren't sure they'd get him back.

He stopped flirting, and even when he'd been little more than stripped back skin and raw nerves on the Sunny after his escape from the marines, he'd had room and time for a special smile and understanding for her. He didn't flirt with everyone. He did so with those he loved. Those he loved and trusted. It seemed a rare thing, but once you had it, you had it, and you never wanted to lose it. Maybe banter was the better word. It depended on the Strawhat.

In the aftermath of the attack, that smile disappeared. He constrained himself. Acting with the propriety of a Victorian gentleman, with the self-recrimination of a flagellant.

She was glad when his aloofness proved temporary. The two got on so well maybe because they were securely ensconced with their own sexual preferences and in Law's case, his own loved one. Robin had a series of relationships. They both knew that if Law were straight he'd be with her. The fact he wasn't, meant they could be open and giving without fearing it was leading somewhere else. She held no illusions of being together, nor harboured any regrets that they weren't.

It was Marco's idea, not Law's, to get the rescue dogs, but what a good move it had been. Law knew what he had to do to get through trauma and to not let it control his life, but it took huge effort. He had his practice, Marco, and good friends, and all that helped enormously. Shipping Kid off to Ivankov and eventually opening the clinics also enriched his life, and lent it a stability that he hadn't felt before. It took some time for him and Zoro to get over and beyond what they'd both been through, but they did.

It was the dog that really pulled him through, as tired of a concept as it was, and Zoro, though Robin knew less of that. They'd all been so proud of Law leading up to the attack. He was their favourite errant child anyway, but his guard had dropped with the relatively trouble-free years after the new world stabilised, and with the unstinting love and support of Marco. They'd all enjoyed seeing him regain his confidence, loved the way he opened up to them after his captivity with Doflamingo and the assaults he'd endured when imprisoned by the marines had pared his self-esteem to the bone. Regaining his psychological foothold had taken years. Then Kid. Law, though initially seemingly able to tumble with the worst of the assault and still rise for air, shut down a month or so after.

He still needed to see his friends, and be with them, but the gentle teasing was gone, and his affection was reserved only for Marco, and even then, he was hesitant about expressing it in public. That was the traumatised Law they knew when they'd rescued him from the marine internment, the hidden smile aside. It was painful to see him regress. To deny himself and those around him touch, and the reassurance that came with it, especially because Law could communicate a thousand words in the sweep of a hand.

Now, though, he leaned into Robin, and moved a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she was so glad to have him back.

Law did all he could to gain the trust of the rescue dogs. He crouched on the floor at their level. His height was intimidating. Offering his hand to be sniffed, he'd scratch them behind the ears, if they let him. He walked them in the park, and didn't mind when they pressed into his legs, growling under their breath, when another person approached.

As they grew more secure, so did Law. As they grew braver, they demanded affection and didn't shy from slobbering over the Heart Captain to express their own. And so his hand, when chatting across a cup of tea, maybe rested on Robin's arm and admired her new ring. She remembered the day he once again let her kiss him goodbye without ducking out of the way. Any conditioned misguided guilt he felt that his actions had caused Kid's attack fading.

A kiss to her cheek, or lips even, was not disloyalty to Marco, and the Phoenix had never implied as such. Kid's words were a constant as if he were still holding him down, whispering what a deserving and willing slut he was. That his promiscuity around Luffy and Smoker, in front of Zoro, Tashigi, and worst of all, Marco, had brought this all on himself. Of course he'd been anything but. Tactile and giving yes, but not wanton. And even if he was, it didn't justify Kid's assault anywhere, but especially not on his home turf. Where he had felt safe.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

They knew him. The teaspoon collectors, the bottletop hoarders, the dishcloth dames - the tea-towel grannies, as Marco termed them. Robin loved how he was at home, or not at home, with them all, as equally awkward and focused. Letting that charm shine through when he had the urge.

"Trafalgar, you came." An older lady with short spiked hair, salt and pepper, greeted the two pirates as they dropped far more than the recommended Beri donation into the admission box. Trinity.

"Of course."

Law carried his sword with him when he was away from home. Robin wondered if it got heavy. It was almost an extra appendage for him when they first knew him, but he'd been more relaxed with island living for a while. After the attack it again rarely left his side.

"Trafalgar?" Robin teased.

"It has a certain gravitas, wouldn't you say?" Law said over his shoulder to the archeologist.

The older woman tapped the top of the table in front of her, flashy rings taking up most of her hand.

"We put some aside for you, Love."

Law's face perked up. To the side of Trinity were three rolled up cloths. She unfurled the first and it had all the tassels and intricate patterns of a Turkish rug.

It's not linen," Law said, feeling the cloth. It obviously wasn't linen.

"No, silk, cotton, wool and some camel hair woven into this beauty."

Robin inhaled at the design, dipping in, out, over and within itself. Rose bled into carmine, darkened with mahogany, lit with vermillion and traces of gold thread. Lush. It reminded her of Alabasta.

"What's the story?" Law murmured.

"Both of these are some kind of song line."

Law wondered about the third. "They were sung into being?"

Trinity nodded, and unfurled the second towel.

Law admired the ochres, the white motifs and paths indicating the wandering and meandering of a dreaming.

"Some of the desert women did this one. Marg has just come back from a world trip, and she kept an eye out for things you'd like, and the rest of us of course."

Law spied a paw print, so like Bepo's in the corner. He ran a hand over it.

"She told them some of your story. How you survived genocide."

Law and Robin both looked up sharply. Had either of them ever divulged that information?

"Your crew, hon. They buy all your presents from us."

Law coloured slightly. Of course. He was still defensive though. There was a reason there were very few survivors of genocide. Those remaining learnt to keep tight-lipped about their status, especially when the World Government had been the instigator of most atrocities and did not look kindly on those who bore witness.

"Marg understands, Law. There's a reason she has contact with the communities."

The tall man nodded.

"They're protective of their culture, as you'd appreciate."

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

"What's the last one?" Robin asked.

"Marco commissioned this."

Two dark heads turned her way again. Though there was a fair smattering of grey in Law's.

"Marco?"

"Does he even know where your shop is?"

Trinity tcched. "Do the gifts you receive ever vary?"

Law smiled quietly. No. He was easy to buy for.

Trinity's lip curled a little in distaste, but it was lost on Law who eagerly reached for the last tea-towel. The linen quality was good, the best, Irish, crisp and white. The centre was a (scanned) photo of Misery, with Mercury, the dog still with them, gazing at some spirit cloud to the side, and Mephistopheles, the poor sick dog, not cat, that had only been with them for six months before she passed, actually seeming to look at the camera and straight at them. What uncoordinated positioning. What a bunch of clowns. Like some pastiche of circus dog rejects. The composition was hopeless.

"Thank god he didn't decide to put this on a t-shirt or sweater. Can you imagine having to wear it?" Law said with a shudder, a delighted grin on his face. Small dog biscuit shapes were scattered throughout the design, and vomit-inducing pink hearts that Cora would have died for. He would have had to wear it at least once, for Marco.

The three dogs and mishmash of designs were all superimposed on a greyed-out kennel.

"I'm sorry, Law. He insisted. The more we told him the colours clashed, the rendition had no clarity due to being taken from low res photos, and that none of it would go with the thread count, the happier he seemed and he agreed with our observations as if they were recommendations."

Trinity shook her head. She wasn't sure that the tea-towel association wanted to put their name to this atrocity, but Law and those around him were some of their best customers. They certainly paid well for designs that would have burnt the eyes of a hobby-Tex enthusiast. From what she understood, the strange tattooed man in front of her reacted to all of them with glee.

"That sure is ugly as fuck," Robin breathed over his shoulder.

Law stroked the photo of Misery. "She never had any taste either, but she didn't care." She'd loved him fiercely. Growling if Marco went to fill her bowl instead of Law, except when it was prudent. There were times that the doctor just wasn't around.

The world had pretty much rejected her for her brokenness.

"It's perfect." He said to Trinity. "I'll take it."

"That blond cutie of yours has already paid for it, doll. You've got no choice."

"You guys are a couple of freaks," Robin said, but her lips curved at the light in Law's eye, his obvious infatuation with that hideous dishcloth, purely because it was hideous. And featured Misery. And Marco had commissioned and paid for it.

"Thank you," Law murmured, shot her a quick look, eyes high and frivolous. A word one didn't associate with Law. Except when it came to tea-towels. And even then, he took his 1950s, conservative-housewife interest as seriously as any pop vulture with a penchant for getting married in an Elvis chapel. It took some dedication. She knew nothing could shake the phoenix and the heart. She was pleased they'd found each other. Let the other in.

"You'll take these too?" Robin asked about the almost sacred artefacts with the Turkish and Dreaming designs.

"Of course. They're beautiful," he said, "Though nothing could best Misery on a good day." Or his Marco, he thought, passing his Beri to Trinity as she wrapped all three cloths.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

He found a blue cotton weave scarf for Marco. A light material of the kind he liked to wear, for show, for sweat. It graduated in colour from azure to the deepest indigo, like his Phoenix glow. He didn't need to consult Robin, and so he didn't, but she was right nearby as he picked it out and brought it to Trinity, along with the few lighthouses, submarines and scalpel design . . . tea-towels he'd also chosen.

"Love, are you sure you haven't made a mistake?" The grey-haired woman unfurled the blue scarf and admired its luminescent beauty. It outshone the other dross he'd selected by leagues.

"Oh?" Law looked a little confused, though he remained relaxed and easy.

"It's just . . .," she gulped. Law was really stylish in his . . . in front of her, that never changed, and Robin was the epitome of class. "This is gorgeous, Trafalgar, it's not your usual style. Is it maybe a little too chic for your home?"

Robin chuckled lightly and Law didn't mind. He really didn't. It was only with the tea-towels he went overboard. And maybe the Polar Tang.

"You don't think it'll suit Marco?"

"Only too well. But you don't seem to be interested in . . ."

"Good taste?" Robin interjected. Better that it came from her.

Law smirked at Robin and sat on the table near Trinity - a no-no, but she didn't mind. His legs stretched to the floor, he crossed them at the ankles, and Kikoku rested beside him. He pulled a heart shaped locket from around his neck. Again, it wasn't a travesty, but an anomaly. There was some damn fine craftsmanship that had gone into the design etched into the silver. He wore it under his clothes usually against his chest. And he didn't always wear it. It depended on how he was feeling on any given day. The heart was on a long chain which he pulled over his head.

He opened the locket and ran the edge of a finger over the rim holding the picture of Cora. Opposite was a much smaller rendition of his family.

"This man loved me," Law said, "That meant everything to me, and was all I had at one stage of my life. He was the first to let me know I wasn't a monster, after the fall of Flevance – the genocide you mentioned – when I was a kid. His care convinced me that he might be right. I had an illness, and he helped me survive it, but he paid with his life."

He passed it to Trinity. She looked down and frowned. What in hell's name was the man in the picture wearing?

"In very dark times the memory of that smile was a salve."

Robin leaned in. Trinity looked at a man, his face wreathed with a harebrained grin, wearing a Sherpa-like cap, or maybe a night cap, heavily made up with garish face paint reminiscent of Commedia dell'Arte, and wearing a shirt covered with hearts. His pose was very similar to the last visual memory Law had of him, the man riddled with bullets and beaten by Vergo, but with a mouthful of teeth for him as he told tiny, vulnerable, just-reprieved-from-dying, thirteen-year-old Law he loved him.

Maybe it was a surveillance pic, or one Sengoku had taken of his adopted son before he went undercover, in his undercover outfit. Law wondered how undercover it was though. Cora had not removed any of that make-up, even when he could, away from Doflamingo's prying eyes, as they camped out in the snow on the mountain. Then again, Joker's eyes had been freaking everywhere.

"He died for me," Law said, matter of fact, ignoring the guilt the Don Quixote Family had drilled into him, that Sengoku had levelled against him, that it was natural to feel. "And if one way I can honour him is to be as tasteless as possible, then so be it."

"Except Law's actually too dapper to pull that off." Robin wandered over and leant against the desk next to him.

"Dapper?" Law looked at her puzzled, picturing X-Drake, or perhaps Bege. "It's not like I try," he huffed.

"And those tattoos drew themselves."

She felt him stiffen slightly, thinking about the ones he had no say in.

"Almost."

The Strawhat pirate turned her head toward Trinity.

"So, you know, if you're a clothes horse, looking good in whatever you wear, you've got to express your vulgarity in other ways."

"Tea-towels," Trinity breathed. She and the other women who ran the NPO had been frightened of the lanky man at first, and sometimes still were, or some of them were. He'd come in with the Admiral Smoker once and, though Law was more charming than the older man, those who were wary of his background lost a little of their distrust once that friendship was known.

"I like them," Law said simply, standing up from the table, and taking back his locket from Trinity's outstretched hand. "What's wrong with that?" He slipped the chain back over his neck, and tucked the pendant under his shirt.

"It's just that your judgment can be appalling and contradicts everything about the way you dress and hold yourself." The older woman had not wrapped up the scalpel design tea-towel yet.

"Heart tattoos, letter tattoos, circular tattoos, smiley face tattoos," Robin murmured.

"They all hold together," Law said.

"They do, but maybe only on you. Snow Leopard print hat, yellow and blue hoodies, spotted jeans."

"It's a consistent colour scheme."

"You've got quite the eye, Law," Trinity said, again holding up Marco's scarf.

"Some folk are just born with it. But no," he anticipated her next question, "It doesn't extend to tea-towels."

That would defeat the purpose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luffy is now the Pirate King and Zoro is his faithful partner. Law and Luffy were a couple for two years. All characters live in a kind of One Piece AU on a series of islands a ferry ride away from one another. The World Government is a lot less corrupt than it used to be. I hope these stories can stand alone without knowledge of the prior fic. I think they can. Sorry for the confusion if they cannot.
> 
> In this AU, Law is in his thirties.
> 
>  **Thank you** for reading. Thank you so much for past readers who left kudos, bookmarks and comments on this fic before I took it down. I kept the comments, and really appreciate the time you took to write them.
> 
> As of November 2017, the chapters that were taken down have been restored. As always, thank you so much for reading.
> 
>  **Note: Dec 8, 2018:** The Vivre Cards have come out with Marco's height, and he's got 12cm on Law. When I started writing these two, a post on Oro Jackson had Marco at about 184 cm, which I prefer. I initially wrote Marco taller, and readjusted everything. Now, it seems I need to go the other way! BUT, I'll just leave author notes instead. It's always an AU anyway.


	2. Long Sleeved Shirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mao Tunics, Nehru Jackets, Law tries to melt into the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Not graphic, but allusions/references to past assault.**
> 
> Set probably about 3-4 years before the last chapter. Set in the first two months after Kid's attack in the original [_Repossession_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29125485) fiction, shortly after Killer's first visit to Law's clinic – [chapter 30](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29128707).

 

* * *

**Chapter 2: Long-sleeved shirts**

* * *

 

  _"Killer-ya. I don't think you want me as your physician."_

_"Why not? I hear you're good."_

 

**oOOo**

The whir of the sewing machine filled the house. He'd come home the other day and found Law sweating it out in one of his long coats. This one was from Punk Hazard, he'd told Marco, when he enquired why he was wearing it. No kind of answer at all.

The first month had been the easiest in some ways. Extreme conditions brought out extreme reactions. They knew to be outraged at Kid, to fight for Law's survival and to comfort and provide obvious support.

At times of shock nearly anything can get done, past and passed, on the surface. After all, governments rely on it to put their most odious practices in place. But once the frontline trauma kicks in things unravel.

Marco looked at him in some long sleeve shirt he must have worn to a funeral once upon a time, covering up everything except the marks on his hands, and a slight swirl at his chest. But even that was really only an impression discerned under the round neck of the white t-shirt he wore next to his skin. It was a wonder Law didn't have that buttoned up to his neck in his current Victorian fastidiousness. Marco wore a singlet* and loose Capris, like an old man who'd dressed for so many summers that casual was second nature. His clothes had to be cooler than the coat.

"Law?"

Those grey eyes flicked up briefly and back to the sewing machine again. Black cloth everywhere. A few strips of white. Linen, cottons. All material that suited the climate. They usually got their bigger pieces made at the tailor's in town, but Law obviously had something specific in mind, and a lot of it.

His eyes didn't spark when he saw his lover. He'd taken himself to the spare room the last few nights, and though it hurt, he knew Law did it because the nightmares had been relentless lately, and Marco knew the doctor understood only too well that there was only so much another person could take. That being him. He stayed awake worrying, anyway, until the third night when sleep overcame him. Killer hadn't been the trigger, but Killer's words had. Law tried to explain. Marco didn't quite get it.

The rescue dog Marco and Law had chosen, Marco's idea, followed the Law to the spare room, and he certainly didn't reject her. She was too big to climb on the bed, but curled up next to it, and slept when Law did. Woke as soon as he did. Her one eye always watchful, she sniffed and licked at his fingers if his hand fell anywhere near her.

Law's sleep deprived gaze glanced up from the Singer again, debating whether to switch the machine off entirely. He'd gone into the clinic, and that helped keep his sense of normalcy. The visit from Killer, thanking him for his leniency towards Kid and apologising, not on behalf of his captain, because, as if that would ever happen, but because of what his captain had done, had knocked something already loose just that bit further out of its socket. Should he have killed Kid? Ensured the punishment was extreme? Too late. He didn't. Time to move on. To not let anything like this happen again.

_"Why not doc? I hear you're good."_

Killer's words had been innocent. He knew that. He thought he knew that. It was in response to Law's rebuttal, his warning, that Killer didn't want him as a GP, but they were words he'd heard a thousand times over from those wanting to use him. He probably did hear them from Kid justifying why it was all right to take what he wanted. Law's will be damned.

It didn't matter that he'd been in his clinic and was in smart casual. The day was finished, but Killer had witnessed the waiting room full of people before Law had seen to each and every single one of them. If he couldn't be respected at his practice, where could he be? If all they remembered was his past as a slave.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

The tunics looked pretty hot on Law, though Marco knew his partner was after a simple pattern that didn't catch the eye. Too fucking bad when you were the Heart captain. Still. It stopped him from layering. He'd been layering like crazy.

He hadn't slept naked for the longest time, and had even gone so far as to pull out some godforsaken nerdy professor turtleneck skivvy from somewhere at one point. Law had a bizarre sense of humour, but this wasn't part of it. The skivvy covered the length of his arms and his throat. He even wore fingerless gloves at times. Thin, sun protection type, with the fingers cut off, a DIY job, to hide his hands.

He hadn't worn his island-living sandals for an age and wore socks in the house of late. His boots had made a reappearance for outside. Even in this heat. Even when just in the garden. Law had always padded around indoors in bare feet. He was looking more like a bag lady by the day. Not his sexy Nana. More like a shuffling, dementia patient.

Marco knew what Law was doing. Even if Law couldn't resist embroidering black embossed hearts into the hemline of the necks of the Nehru-like tunics he's whipped up, and into the skirting of the lower part of the shirts. The crazy-as-fuck Hearts-crew Jolly Roger embossed into one of the upright collars. You had to know they were there. But they were. Beautiful. Intricate.

Marco understood he'd sewn black on black so only those who knew to search would see. He looked more gypsy than ever in the simple, flowing shirts, his gold earrings in contrast to the plain colour, though the Phoenix guessed he was going for some kind of everyman look. He wanted to hold him more than ever, though that wasn't Law's intention. He wanted to repel that kind of attention, though not Marco's. But did he even deserve the Phoenix's kindness?

At least once he had those shirts, the turtleneck, long coats and gloves went away. The tunic sleeves could be pulled over his hands to his knuckles, if he wanted them to, and at times, he did.

Kikuko went with Law everywhere. It really wasn't that practical on the island, but after Killer's visit, everything closed in, and he needed her, and he needed to change his behaviour. That much was obvious. Vergo had told him. Doflamingo. Kid. The admirals.

_I hear you're good, Law._

His behaviour brought misfortune crashing down upon him. Hurt Marco, Cora, Lamie. He had to try harder.

In the bar, Law sat behind it with Marco, but read. He didn't chat with the staff, or customers, only helped out with the heavy labour, and he was very reluctant to touch Marco publicly. He stiffened when Marco did so much as trail a hand along his shoulder. Yet he yearned for it. Law knew he did, and his body language indicated that he did, but what would anyone think of him? Still, Marco was his man, and if anyone were to touch him, and he were to return the favour, it was right it was him. But would it be seen and misinterpreted? Flagrant. Brazen. Disgraceful.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

The Strawhats had tumbled over one time, and they'd been surprised to see him practically covered from head to foot. With the tunics he'd whipped up, everything still looked relaxed, but Law usually wore bare feet and they knew him to hang out in whatever he'd just pulled on in the privacy of his own home. He'd been proud of the new tatts on the bridge of his feet, but none of his ink could be seen.

Perhaps it was only Penguin who'd seen him this guarded and shaky. Or they were re-witnessing that searing pre-Dressrosa intensity. Half of that island, Punk Hazard, was freezing. But the island Marco and Law lived on was not. There was an impracticalness to his being, a scouring of his psyche. Was he aware? He definitely wasn't firing on all pistons.

Law couldn't recall inviting them. Had he? Had he and Marco discussed it? Then again, Marco needed company beyond him, of course, particularly in his current state. They did descend on the house en masse sometimes, but his current self could really only hang out with the dog.

Surrounding him, wanting to hug him, Luffy, maybe even Zoro, Robin and Nami, expected their usual, earned, greetings of affection and physical acceptance. Marco caught Law's panicked face as he shambled himself out the back. Replacing himself with a rake that clattered to the floor. Misery went racing after him. His boots by the back door were soon replaced with a trowel.

The Strawhats looked to Marco, perplexed. They knew, they knew what had happened, but progress had been good, from what they heard. Zoro and Luffy were particularly bewildered. This wasn't the man they'd encountered the day after the assault – determined to keep them close, and the effects of Kid's actions at bay. Keeping the effects of Kid's actions at bay, by keeping them close.

"Still early days," Marco said. He knew Law wouldn't dare touch anyone at the moment, or be touched. His fear was so great. What if he couldn't help being everything Kid accused him of?  

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Marco and Robin took a break while Sanji prepared a meal for them. Even in their own house. He and Law were competent cooks, actually pretty good cooks, but no-one compared to Sanji. Robin sipped on the Mojito the restaurant owner had prepared for her. Marco drank a macchiato. Law didn't know what he was missing out on.

The rest of the crew had gone for a walk around the neighbourhood, heading to the beach for a quick dip, before returning for dinner.

Everyone would enjoy their meal on the balcony on the opposite side of the house where they always entertained. Marco and Robin were seated on the back verandah though. Both wanted to keep Law in sight, and the fact he hadn't disappeared meant that some part of him wanted to be in their general proximity. No-one could disappear like Law. That devil's fruit was a blessing, and a curse to anyone who wanted to see him when he felt like making himself scarce.

"What's with the cover up?" Robin asked

Law's back was to them, sitting on a bench seat in the garden, gazing down at the village. Chopper had gone out for a while, but not got much out of him, and Misery stayed nearby. He was waiting for them to leave, she realised. But she felt he didn't regard them as the problem.

"Kid," Marco shrugged, his voice tight. "Accused Law of covering his body in tatts to draw attention. Said he was promiscuous because he was affectionate with Luffy, Smoker, so many people that night. You know how he is when he trusts you."

Robin did know. She smiled lightly. She missed it. "Kid's vocabulary stretched to promiscuous?"

"He was more colloquial." 

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Law knew he had to think beyond it, and he really tried, but if he was away from people, he couldn't touch people, right? If they couldn't see his skin, they wouldn't be tempted to touch him, right? Kid hadn't apologised because there was nothing to apologise for. He deserved it. Brought it on himself. Like they all said. He was good at what he did. At enduring. Every nightmare had reiterated the point, every memory of the gravel imprinting on his back as Kid drove into him.

He'd blundered into every humiliating moment with such naiveté, as if he were still a kid in Flevance, listening to Sister's words, instead of a seasoned warrior of the ocean. He must have wanted it. Subliminally. Somehow. He knew better. He'd been through worse. He knew Sister lied.

Killer's visit. Something loosened. Something wasn't quite right. Law couldn't put his finger on it, but he never wanted to do that to himself again. To hurt Marco in that way. Kid was right. Law hardly deserved the Phoenix, acting as he had. Kid was right to point out Law's behaviour. The discipline was effective though he wouldn't be fucking thanking him.

He had to do what he could to change. Maybe they'd leave him alone. Marco would forgive him. How could he bear to look at him? He had to change so he'd stay with him. His friends really had no idea who he truly was anyway. Maybe only Kid, Doflamingo, Vergo knew that. His hand trailed in the dirt in the garden.

Misery, snuffling at some newly flowered ranunculus, came up and wagged that whip of a tail. It was time for a walk. 

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

He hadn't let Marco join him, anyone, on these long strolls he took. Only Kikoku went with him, and Misery, eager to run ahead, or chase anything he threw for her. In the gaps, the undulations, in between the rush of his blood and pain, he found a few moments of peace. He'd see the magpies peck at the earth, hear their sweet evening song. He had to pull it together for Marco, but he didn't know how he was going to.

Robin accompanied him. She didn't ask. She just did. She didn't talk, and neither did he. She followed him down the road. He paused, waited for her to catch up. Usually, she or he would take the arm of the other. That was how their friendship worked. But they walked an hour without exchanging a word or a touch. Separately. It wasn't uncomfortable, weirdly enough. They sat together on the bench for a while as Misery cavorted, sniffed and played with other dogs. Robin looked over. Was that his Jolly Roger embroidered into the collar? Go figure. You had to squint to pick it out. Law looked gaunt. He wasn't sleeping, she could see it, a lot less than usual. But she felt it would be temporary, ultimately. Her Law was too strong for it to be anything else. Now wasn't the time to tell him.

"C'mon old girl," he murmured, clicking the leash to Misery's collar as she raced up. "Home time."

Misery put her maverick head on Robin's lap, drooling in that less than endearing way she had.

"Aren't you the charmer?" Law said lightly. A small smile as he patted her bull head, the fabric of his shirt sleeve brushing her fur. He stood, and Robin followed. Misery heeled and didn't strain on the leash as they walked.

"C'mon beauty, let's see what Marco's got for dinner."

He could talk then, Robin thought, even if only to the dog. And smiles weren't in the realm of impossibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes:
> 
> *Singlet is Australian English. wife-beater (ugh), or maybe tank top in U.S. English, vest in British English, to the best of my knowledge.
> 
>  **Thank you for reading**.


	3. Shitty Surgeon - Zoro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To parry and thrust, or not to parry and thrust? That is the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A few light warnings** : Past assault referred to, but not graphically, and it's not the main part of the story. This chapter correlates to the Zoro chapters in [_Repossession_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29125485), but especially [chapter 22](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29127525) (a strong warning on that chapter) and [chapter 23](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29127657). Those who've read _Repossession_ might not recall the incident below that embarrasses Law. Sorry, it was written into chapter 23 after I'd finished posting.
> 
> It can be understood without reading those chapters, I think.

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Shitty Surgeon**

* * *

Law rarely refused a chance to cross swords with Zoro, practice only, and he challenged him almost as soon as Law walked in the door. Misery raced ahead to her water bowl. Robin kicked off her shoes and trailed after Law into the area where the kitchen met one of the house's living rooms, the main one, really. The room featuring the tea-towels was a more private space off to the side.

"Oi, shitty surgeon. You, me, that long-arsed sword, that patch of grass."

Law could barely feel Kikoku although she was in no way light. Whose energy was low?

Zoro was surprised to see colour creep into Law's face, and the surgeon's hangdog expression, a flare of anger, quashed almost as soon as it flickered across his skin. Law gave Marco a look of entreaty and apology as he pushed through them all, his friends, a blur of faces in front of him. They didn't know him, what he was. Well they knew. They knew his past. But they didn't really know. He entered the bedroom, where he lay down, after placing Kikoku to the side, and let the darkness hold conversation with him.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Marco was shredding lettuce under Sanji's watchful eye.

"He didn't eat lunch."

"No."

"Will he join us for dinner?"

The phoenix shook his head. He doubted it.

"I'll put something aside."

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Luffy, Zoro and Marco sat on the balcony. They looked out at the clear night sky, and wondered what they could do to help the Heart pirate. The other Strawhats had taken their leave, but Luffy and Zoro were staying the night. They often did. The Strawhat Captain and the Whitebeard pirate had business in the area the following day.

"He always spars. I thought something physical might shake him out of it." Whatever  _it_  was. 

Law probably gave more time than he should have to those who recognised he was and had been something more than a slave. He was aware he wasn't the greatest swordsman in the world, but he wasn't an amateur. Practice was something positive between Roronoa and himself, and Zoro hadn't always viewed him in terms of his ability to handle a blade. At least not outside of an operating room.

"He's embarrassed . . . about what you saw. He still trains. All the time."

Marco knew he was betraying a huge trust. Getting this information had not been easy.

"Kid?"

Marco nodded, knowing they were all thinking of Zoro finding Kid pinning Law down. Seastone had been a major part of that situation.

"Not just when you found him."

"That's understandable."

Marco sighed, looking out over their balcony. Of course it had been too much to expect that their quick assessment and addressing of the assault had solved all problems.

"He can't get it out of his head that he had hardly a stitch on when he  _could_  get away, once you released the seastone, Zoro. That he reached for Kikoku, looking like some circus chimp - his words not mine - rather than having the presence of mind to find his clothes first, or his trousers. From what I understand he still had his shirt. He didn't think to cover himself in front of you. That it was of utmost importance to him to make sure he was wearing the flip-flop that didn't get damaged."

The images of the broken one left in the alleyway that night when he'd rounded the corner to find Luffy and Zoro guarding a drunk but not remorseful Kid, no Law, and then later, the obvious marks left on Law's body from having been slapped with the footwear at some point, made Marco's stomach clench, and red heat filled him. He tamped it down.

At least Law had some self-deprecating gallows humour about his apparel priorities when telling that tale, not the chimp part. Though it had had to be extracted from him. Marco knew Law beat himself up further for being so affected by something so small in the grand scheme of things. He was alive. Zoro had stopped Kid before things had got too far, though they'd gone far enough. He had Marco still. His friends.

Marco imagined and Zoro remembered, the short sleeved shirt, the Heart insignia on its pocket, that had been divested of its buttons, loosely hanging on the surgeon's body, the only thing covering his bruised and used form, as he bent, squatted, leaned over, there was no gracious way to do it, and retrieved his nodachi.

Sweat beaded his tattooed chest, either Kid's perspiration or his own. The potential for ridicule was there but Zoro recalled the fluid movement, despite the pain, despite the wince, as Law single-mindedly retrieved one of his most powerful weapons of defence, of attack. The sword that sung out for him, even when resting. Of course it hadn't been a comfortable situation. It must be excruciating to remember for the surgeon, Zoro thought.

But, Kid really was lucky he was alive. So was Zoro, perhaps. If Law had unsheathed Kikoku that night, he wondered if the demon within could have been contained. She had a bone to pick with Zoro, and he was always reminded of it when they sparred. He'd had his run-ins with Law, but he admired his control, particularly over that sword.

"That's what he's worried about?"

"He feels he looked pathetic, defeated."

When Marco had confronted Kid, he'd again noted the lone flip-flop, rubber thonging snapped, maybe as Law pushed back, struggled to regain footing, lying like an abandoned trash duckling. Of no use to anyone. Later Marco learnt Law had limped in that small confined space, gathering his nodachi, pulling on his pants wearing one flip-flop. The visual image hurt him. He could imagine the effect it had on the person who went through that shit.

"It seemed so important that I kept wearing it once I'd dressed. The more material I had on me the more armour. I must have looked so stupid. Why didn't I just slice him up? Go barefoot?"

Marco found later from the bruising, the red marks, the impression left upon his body, that Kid had used the footwear against Law's skin. He'd almost hit Law himself when he saw it, an ugly possessiveness rising from the darker parts of his brain. Of wanting to bend him over the bed and stake his claim. He remembered Law sensing it and growing wary. It didn't help. Hadn't helped his recovery.

He shook his head as his anger rose, both at Kid and himself, and returned to the conversation.

"And so he picked up Kikoku so he could fight first if he needed to. Survival over dignity." Roronoa was saying.

"He's a proud man, Zoro."

"I would have done the same."

"He's afraid it's the only image that comes to your mind when you think of him."

"Who knew our surgeon worried so much about what others thought?" Especially him, Zoro mused. There were times when, for good reason, the surgeon had held him in complete disdain.

"He's been white-anted."

Both Luffy and Zoro leant forward.

"His nightmares haven't stopped, and the star players are nearly always Doflamingo and Vergo. If not them, another equally fucked-up bastard, and they're mouthy as fuck, and nightmares stretch way back when to before he escaped the first time, before he knew how to use his power. The way he dresses, the way he walks, talks, looks, his tatts, who he is, how he was born, abandoned, and all the time, just how fucking pathetic he is to let this happen to him. How he must want it to happen by the same illogical arguments. How he should be grateful, give thanks for it happening. Joker conditioned him at the most vulnerable time of his life."

Marco stood up. His chair pushing back stronger than he'd meant it to, scraping over the balcony floorboards, and looked out over the village. His skin prickled with annoyance. It was testament to Law, Marco thought, that he'd kicked, clawed, run, attacked, and yes, often yielded, to cut through the strings the pink bastard entrapped him with, or to at least slacken their tension. Not all strings were the result of Doffy's ito-ito fruit. He had trained Law to collaborate in his own suppression.

Luffy growled. Though both men were dead, they made him sick with what they'd put Law through.

"I thought he'd worked through this kind of thing," Luffy said. That they had. He and Law when they were lovers. Marco and Law, after that.

"Yeah. We were doing okay, but Killer visited him. Thanks for the agate, by the way, it's got us through some dark nights."

Luffy sighed. He'd hoped the bad dreams were something of the past.

"Apparently the visit was fine. Killer thanked Law for not subjecting Kid to what he himself had been, and then apologised, and it sent Law over. He started covering up and shutting down. Law can be all mouth, you know. He told Killer on greeting that he wouldn't want him as a doctor. He wasn't sure why he was there. He went on the defensive, of course.

"Killer queried him. It was innocent, I'm sure. It seems everyone on the Kid crew except for the captain has a fairly level head. He said something like,  _Why not? I hear you're the best?_  It set something off. All the times Doflamingo excused his actions as being caused by Law's skills, as being the right way to utilise these so-called skills . . . as being the reason for honing them. Something's crossed in his mind at the moment. Gone a little haywire."

Marco faced Zoro and Luffy, leaning against the balcony railing. His face was as calm as ever, but his eyes were angry and uncertain. It was frustrating not knowing what to do.

"Kid's confidence hasn't taken a hit?" Zoro asked.

"Not that we can see."

Self-perception. What a cruel mistress she could be.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Law and Zoro sat in the lounge room the next day. Luffy had gone with Marco to discuss some new deal, New World, new something with Shanks. The blinds were slightly opened, morning light skirting the room, dust motes falling to the floor. Law was silent, reading, covered up still. Not running around in his morning track pants and loose t-shirt, as Zoro had witnessed on many occasions. One of the tunics covered his upper body, and full length linen trousers and socks hid everything below. The doctor hadn't rolled up the cuffs of his shirt, and his hand tattoos couldn't be seen. His finger tattoos were obscured. The look suited Law, but smacked of his new formality. Zoro wondered at the deeper level their friendship had reached not but a month ago, after years of guarded civility and masked animosity. He wondered if he'd see that giving and relaxed Law again.

His hair was a bird's nest, as if his night had been fitful, but that was usual. When he and Luffy stayed, Law returned to the main bedroom with Marco. There were some purple marks along his neck, higher than the Nehru collar could cover. That was unusual. From what Zoro understood, the two didn't mark one another. Luffy said Law hated it. Having been branded and owned from such an early age, he hated anyone laying physical claim to his skin. He wondered what the collar hid.

Zoro made coffee for them both, and Law took it with murmured thanks. He could talk then. He was surprised the surgeon hadn't a cup already. Misery ran around outside, racing to the door, whining to come in, before chasing after an aeroplane flying overhead, or bees in the yard.

She reminded Zoro of himself. It was probably just the one eye thing.

The swordsman sat on the armchair away from the couch. Law knew he didn't have to fear conversation from him. Both of them rarely talked anyway, but. . .

"Cook stole all my clothes once."

Then again. . . Law looked over.

"And my swords."

Law coloured. Damn Marco. The night came flooding back in, and all his discomfort with it. He placed his coffee on the panel of the armrest and rose swiftly, losing his place in his book.

"Stay, Law, damn it," Zoro said from his arm chair. He took a sip of his coffee. "Hear me out."

Law stared at him and Zoro thought he was going to teleport away, no-one told Law what to do, but he walked into the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. It occupied his hands and gave them time to steady. Returning to the room, he gave one glass to the Strawhat firstmate, and returned to his seat. Zoro almost shut up under Law's gaze. The doctor's head might be a mess, but that glare could still slice rocks in two. Even so, he continued.

"We'd had some kind of skirmish with another pirate crew, and curly brow and I were arguing who knows what the fuck about? But I must have really pissed him off."

Zoro leant back against the couch, an easy smile now as he remembered, wondering if he could bother Law for a splash of brandy to go with his coffee, never mind water.

"When we got back on board, I was so tired. I just wanted to rest and soak in the tub, and luckily Usopp had heated the water. I left Wado Ichimonji, Shusui and Sandai Kitetsu near the entrance, my clothes too, and I must have been more than tired and Sanji super-stealth, because once I'd finished soaking, and got out of the bath to dress myself, there wasn't even a towel to dry myself with, let alone to wrap around myself. Maybe I'd dropped off."

Law's expression remained the same, but Zoro could tell he had his attention. Was there maybe even a curve of a smile? He'd kind of stopped talking to all of them, except Misery and a few words to Marco here and there. Law had often covered up when they were sailing together, so that wasn't so new, but it had been cold and it wasn't the man they'd come to know. True, after his own bad behaviour years before it had taken years for Law to fully accept him. He'd been the one to stop Kid though. And one thing Law did well was acknowledge those who'd helped him. They'd finally reached an equal footing. Zoro didn't want to lose it under this meltdown.

"So, I was wet. Not a stitch on, dripping like a rainfall. I didn't spend two seconds thinking about it. I marched to the kitchen, leaving footprints behind me, splashing over everything, and on show. Well, you know, that wasn't really on my mind. It's only on reflection that I think how it must have looked."

Law raised his coffee, took a sip, and could only the surgeon make that look ominous? Still. He was in the same room. That was progress nowadays.

"I'm sure I was swinging around like a pendulum, but know what my first question was when I went to the kitchen? I mean, I could have gone to the men's quarters and covered up, but it didn't even cross my mind."

Law continued his impersonation of a statue, or a slow moving mime. But he kept his gaze.

"Where the fuck were my swords? I was in full view of the whole crew. Luffy was sniggering away, of course. Though it's not as if he hadn't seen it all before. Cook had put the katana on top of some tall-as-fuck cabinet, so I had to scale it, naked, like a freaking monkey, my backside on show for all, Cook screaming with a spatula in his hand. But you know what? It's only after I'd retreived them and had stormed back to our quarters that I thought about being naked.

"At the time, my only thoughts were how could I protect myself and the crew, without my swords?"

He stared at the Heart pirate for a second.

"I would have done exactly the same, Law. That night. You have a bond and responsibility to Kikoku." Zoro took a sip of the coffee, and grinned. "It hasn't stopped the crew teasing me about it since, though."

Law swallowed. He hadn't used his tongue for some time. He knew Zoro was talking about. . .

"Would this have happened to you, Roronoa-ya?"

Zoro knew the question was not an attack, despite the colour in the older man's face and Law's obvious discomfort. His voice was steady, even though it was quiet. It wasn't a question to be taken lightly. Zoro let out a small sigh. He looked down at the mug cradled in his hands.

"I've given it thought, over the years . . ."

Law winced inside, his expression unchanged. Thinking about it was more than Kid had ever done.

Zoro looked up again at the Heart Pirate Captain.

"I've been captured before, a number of times. Faced opponents stronger than me and come out the worse for wear, and all I can say is that I was lucky . . . Especially lucky that Doflamingo didn't rip my life apart. When I ran away from home, I was lucky enough to find a teacher who took care, not advantage, of me.

"That I was trained up in something that enriched my soul rather than stripping it raw. So, I don't know, Law. If Doflamingo had been my master, life might have turned out very differently for me, and who knows, it still might . . . And seastone. You guys are strong in some ways . . . "

And so very weak in others, Law thought. Yeah, tell me about it.

Zoro planted his ankle over his knee.

"My respect is for you, Law. Not Kid. Any words he's used to put you down, to tell you who he thinks you are, are just another weapon. You should know that as a warrior. Why turn that weapon on yourself? Shut down that ammunition factory. You're not wearing seastone any longer."

Law dipped his head. When had Roronoa got so poetic?

"Those old swordsmen battled in  _fundoshi_."

Law looked up.

"I thought they were in full armour."

Zoro shook his head. Smiled inwardly that he'd got about four sentences from the surly man. That counted as a month's worth of dialogue in Law's current state.

"Are you sure you aren't talking about  _Angampora_?"

The younger man properly smiled now. It was a pleasure to talk to anyone who had some knowledge of the arts beyond the pointy side of a bread and butter knife, which wasn't very pointy, no matter which way you looked at it. It was a pleasure to hear Law's voice with a genuine question.

"I'm talking about in a small village in East Blue. Similar to those guys, they fight in loin cloths, use martial arts and swords."

Law raised a skeptical eyebrow, but what did it matter? Zoro knew his swords and all there was to know about any practice related to them. Law knew the herbs and plants he could collect from the corners of the world, and how to use them to heal or harm. Zoro's knowledge in his area of expertise must be as deep. And it wasn't unheard of, the concept, it's just he hadn't heard of it in their parts of the world.

"Up for it?" Zoro asked.

"I'd like to keep my pants on."

"I bet you say that to all the boys."

Kikoku was near Law, and he used her like an old lady uses her walking stick, wrapping both hands around her as if he was going to lever himself from the seat. He remained seated, and rested his head against her instead. His hand tattoos were on show, now. His fingers.

There it was. Golden. That wicked smile they'd seen so little of.

"Be that as it may, if I hold a sword, having my nether regions clothed is my preferred option."

"Of course. I wouldn't trust Kikoku too near my dangly bits anyway."

A laugh. Misery barked from the door. Had she heard that sound before? They'd only had her for six weeks, and Law had been his most introverted for four of those.

"That's wise. Although I don't need a sword to. . ."

"Bare feet though. No shirts," Zoro rushed to say, bringing his thighs a little closer to one another. Damn surgeon and his freaky powers.

Law threw a quizzical glance his way. Did he still have a crush on him? It's manifestation had been the kind of attention Law had spent a lifetime trying to avoid.

"Surgeon, those tatts deserve the right kind of attention. They are you." . . . And he could appreciate Law's lithe body as much as anyone else, but it wasn't about that.

The captain had known many men, people, who'd covered up their ink in order to fit in. Sometimes it was nice to have a few secrets.

"You're letting him win, man. You're letting the enemy win. You've never shown everything, that's true. And not all marks were of your making or from your wishes, but we've nearly always seen your forearms. Your hands. What's with hiding those?"

"I only adapted those," Law said, under his breath.

"You can't hide your fingers, right?"

"Almost." He thought about his makeshift fingerless gloves.

"You're looking more and more homeless, and they're the most vulnerable, Law."

"One of the most." He thought of how hopeful yet forlorn Misery had looked in the shelter. An older female dog, missing an eye, not the prettiest of mixes. He wondered how she'd managed before she'd been brought in. What had been done to her. She was scared of both himself and Marco at first. It had taken some cajoling to get her home.

"What about Kikoku? How's her energy?"

"Flat."

"And if she turns on you?"

Law nodded agreement. It was true, it was something he had to think about, but he still sighed around his hands, holding onto the very she-monster who might very well kill him one day.

"Gets hard to fight the whole of fucking society. There must be some truth to their utterances."

"Not what Smoker said he heard you say at Punk Hazard."

Law turned to him.

"You did, Law. You broke that fucking gear. You ushered in that change."

And then the gear broke him.


	4. Little Bits of Malice, Truckloads of Spite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: Warnings: Dub-con/Non-con in this. If you want to skip it, don't read from the third oOOo break to the fourth oOOo break.**

**A/N: Warnings: Dub-con/Non-con in this. If you want to skip it, don't read from the third oOOo break to the fourth oOOo break.**

* * *

  **Chapter 4 – Little Bits of Malice, Truckloads of Spite**

* * *

Kikoku was more than excited. He felt how thirsty she was, but he needed to keep the demon in check. He didn't want to hurt Zoro. She was angry at him for not using her on Kid. He couldn't soothe her. Could only use her. Keep his concentration high and work with her energy to have a satisfactory match with the Strawhat swordsman, one that kept both of them safe.

The peanut gallery was out, sitting in lawn chairs, or lounging against the house. Why wouldn't they be? Torao's ink? Robin and Luffy hadn't seen it in the longest time. Zoro's abs? The cook had to admit he was more than a little interested. Luffy too of course, but he got to see them all the time. Law wondered if Zoro had sent a mass text the minute he'd agreed to spar, outlining his conditions.

_Hey folks, Law's ink is back! Check it out next week. I'll pulverise him, but we get to see his tatts. Couldn't get him to drop his daks.*_

Law's back ink was fucked up though. His back was. Everyone knew it. The tattoo and flesh bore the marks: faded, smooth, raised skin, all long time scars now. A legacy of Kizaru's handiwork on his Jolly Roger when he'd raked his lasers over it. His actual back was still strong and supple, despite the damage he'd taken across the decades. Bepo sighed every time he saw the mangled smile. He didn't like thinking of the captain at that marine facility.

Law didn't quite get the enthusiasm of the crowd, or, he was comfortable enough with it if it remained squarely in the spectator corner of spectator sport. Ogling his fine ass. It was too soon. He dropped his head for a second and –

_Bare feet. Naked torso. Loose fitting trousers. Marco laughed. Law nearly always looked at home in what he wore, but considering how prim he'd been for the last month or so, the change was enough to whip his head one-eighty. With Shanks' crew and other fights, Law was never so casual, and that made sense. Though even in training, he somehow managed flexibility and swiftness while wearing those tight jeans._

_The drawstrings were a better idea and, since they'd started island living, they were Law's preferred attire. He had an idea the torso and feet free of any cover was Zoro's idea. Marco narrowed his eyes slightly, but let it go. He never realised how much he liked taking in the designs on the bridges of Law's feet until he'd hidden them from view._

_Marco tipped his head back against the wall of the house, smiling at Law limbering up. Seeing the designs. Confident in his skin. How could he doubt that his self-assurance would come back? Misery raced up to Law, and he bent down to throw a ball for her. She brought it back. He threw it again. She brought it back._

_The doctor called Luffy over and gave him the ball-throwing duties. Luffy then raced across the grass trying to beat Misery to the ball just after he pitched it, so Law called Usopp in then to throw it for both of them so he could go back to prepping for the match, just as soon as he wiped dog goo off his hand onto the grass._  

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Intoxicating. He forgot how intoxicating it was to fly, to fight, to fence, to fucking defend and attack for the sheer exhilaration and fury of it. Diamanté had been a giant compared to him when he was a grown man. Lucky he was scared of nothing when he learnt swordplay from him as a ten-year-old, way before all the really screwed up stuff started, when he learnt how to be scared again all over. He took what he could from those lessons though. The swordsmanship. One thing he was good at was compartmentalising.

_Luffy was tumbling and laughing and growling with Misery when he looked up and across, and a bit closer at Law's body, as he raised one arm in the air and then the next, the smattering of hair lining his arm pits . . . it wasn't just Kizaru's old handiwork. Luffy squinted. There were marks all over Law's body. The fuck? The marks from Kid must have healed. Law just didn't . . ._

Law was an Everyman. He was older than Zoro, and Zoro was able to defeat Fujitora's gravity with his will and sword. Law hadn't mastered that yet. But was able to cut through his meteors, and slice through Vergo's haki, for all the fucking good it had done him.

_. . . Law just didn't let anyone touch him that way. And his head really hadn't been in a good space last week, was it any better now? Robin thought. Was he thinking straight enough to allow that? Luffy had been in the doghouse for ages when he'd accidentally . . . or maybe too ardently . . . bitten down on his neck that time . . ._

Grim and relaxed in front of Zoro. Both men were getting on in age, and had pushed through more than their quota of battles. How many bullets had Law had pumped into him? Pentachromatic strings. Fullbright strings. Bullet strings. Parasite strings. Vergo squeezing the fuck out of his heart, and everything after. That saw string. He didn't let the shudder at the memory take over his body, though he touched his arm for an instant. Roronoa's eyes followed the action.

Zoro had taken on all of Luffy's pain. Luckily it was before Marineford. In the past, he'd been willing to cut through his own legs to fight. That might not have been the brightest of ideas. Had taken on Mihawk and survived, and now the Strawhat first-mate and the Hearts Captain were gliding across the yard, the casual conversations of the members of three crews interspersed with the grunts and disciplined calls of the two, the clanking of steel against steel.  _Superrr_ , yelled Franky.

_It wasn't just on the neck, Usopp observed as he dug the ball out of the long grass. The sharp-eyed shooter could maybe see more clearly, closer, than others. Law's skin tone was similar to his own and he distinguished bruising. The doctor's back rippled as he swung his sword overhead, two-handed and then quickly transferred it to the side with his left hand as Zoro parried. How could he swing that nodachi with one hand? Control its sweep? Those marks were made by someone holding onto him too tight. Near his hips, hand marks, finger marks. Teeth marks, by the shoulder? Broken skin?_

_Law had really been through too freaking much, and so, apart from when in the deepest stages of recovery, which really meant breakdown, his attitude was just fuck it._

Zoro kept wide berth of that massively long blade, until he saw the chance to move in closer and thrust his katana under Law's chin – they didn't use their powers when they fought. Zoro used one sword. They'd sparred enough that they were used to the style of the other. Both kept their observation haki and Law was able to deflect the katana as Zoro drew near, yet it seemed to Zoro that Law let him close in when it was wise to push him back, to defend himself with offence.

The silence that hung in the air, indicating one blade was trapped against the other, was interrupted by Usopp and Luffy as they called out to Misery and her returning bark, by Sanji refilling Nami's glass. The doctor and the swordsman were close, their breath almost as one, and Zoro formed a fist to separate them, Law's style usually being two-handed.

He pushed on the dark doctor, skin and hand slick with sweat, and Law let him do that too, and then there was traction and loss of traction as Law used the resistance and movement to launch himself, until he was flying, somersaulting through the air. Zoro held his katana in a stance protective of him and the crew from whatever Kikoku had in mind, but Law sheathed her mid-air and tossed the nodachi to Bepo, and then feet first he –

_He could feel shame. He could burn with humiliation. But what the fuck did they know? Those who judged him for being marked like this and those who marked him. What in God's name could they possibly know about him? They thought he'd hide away because they ruptured his skin? He'd cater to their every wish because they'd left their imprint? It was like dealing with children who thought they could tame nature by removing the wings of insects. So he walked out there, crippled and mangled like those insects, but alive, unlike them, with the fucking bruises pressed onto him by his tormenters all over his skin, his ire raised like the tail of the blind scorpion, not because they owned him, or it made him theirs but because they couldn't ever. . ._

\- But Law sheathed his nodachi mid-air and tossed it to Bepo, and then, tattooed feet first, hurtled toward Marco and ploughed them into his sternum. He was a doctor. He knew where to hit. The man staggered backward. Working with the momentum, Law brought his leg up and under the Phoenix's chin, his head snapping backward from the upward kick, and then to the right as Law's other foot smashed against the side of his head. The surprised yell, the pain in the sound as bone found brick, was satisfying. Marco was vaguely grateful for the bootless feet at that moment.

Law flipped back and landed gracefully, panting from the spar with Zoro, and attack on his lover. Just because he hadn't fought much since the peace of the New World, didn't mean he'd lost the ability. The Heart captain and the Whitebeard commander remained in their unenhanced forms, devil fruits dormant. Apart from that flying through the air. Law guessed he'd invoked his powers to do that.

He rose quickly, crowded Marco, rushed and gripped his hair and slammed his forehead into the Phoenix's. Was satisfied with a second shout of pain, and the shaking hand Marco pressed against his brow, the blood coming from somewhere, dripping over his eye. Contusion, thought the doctor. Possible concussion. He hoped someone would take care of him once this was over.

Marco did nothing to defend himself, because he really did bring this one on himself, and it was totally fucked, but he loved seeing Law's anger swim through his skin like a snake sliding through the water. That he had the confidence to let loose. He'd not seen it this way before, and definitely not against him. And his partner had every right to be angry. If anyone hadn't reached their anger entitlement quota it was Trafalgar Law. Not lately, anyway.

_. . . So he walked out there, crippled and mangled like those insects, but alive, unlike them, with the fucking bruises pressed onto him by his tormenters all over his skin, tail raised like the blind scorpion, not because they owned him, or it made him theirs but because they couldn't ever. . .because they couldn't ever fucking own him. Let him publicly mark the Phoenix. Let him see how much he liked it._

"Law! He's  _not_  Kid," Nami yelled as blood spurted as Law's fist drove into Marco's face, and Misery nipped at the hem of his pants, trying to get him to stop as one blow after the other sank into Marco's stomach and chest, and coughing, doubling over, spitting blood, he did nothing to shake the fucker off. He'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt. Misery growled and bared her teeth at the doctor.

But Zoro, regaining his breath, waiting for his sparring partner to return, knew it wasn't Kid that was powering Law's rage, and Luffy knew and Robin knew, and Usopp had an inkling, and most of all, Marco knew. As Law went in again, arm drawn back, balled up fist gathering speed, Marco raised his hand, palm outward, and blocked Law's own, invoking just enough haki to stop the younger man until he started to call his own armament into play.

Was that the buzz of electricity? He wasn't going to counter-shock him was he? Or maybe it was just the force of the temper that currently charged every particle of his being.

"Law," he breathed out, his teeth red he was sure, he tasted the blood. His gorgeous lover's eyes spiked with anger. The pressure from his hand hadn't let up. "I'm sorry. I really am."

But Law didn't know if he could forgive him. He needed Marco, but not if he was just like everyone else. Marco didn't dare touch him further at that point. He knew not to and man had he fucked up. Bruises. Nips. Teeth marks. Law's furious gaze kept his own, for a moment, chest rising and falling – but hey, they had interacted, and Law hadn't run away. And that skin. He hadn't seen it in the light of day for an age.

The doctor jerked his hand away, and summoned his nodachi. It flew through the air, and into his grip. Bepo was left sniffing a flower from the garden that was now in his paws. One of Law's roses. The bear blushed. Marco coughed, wiped the back of his hand over his busted lip. Tried to regain his breath.

The Heart captain turned his back on Marco, that ragged, magnificent torso. He strode onto that shitty patch of grass. And when he fought, Zoro understood each attack was packed with all his resentment toward Doflamingo, the executives, Vergo, now Kid. Each slice, swipe, and contact of metal was as vicious as fuck, the snarl never leaving Law's eyes or face, his black and grey hair, wild. But the energy was bridled. Law wasn't aiming to hurt him. Not fatally.

Yet, he really had to stay on his toes. Practice with Law was usually a serious but casual way to keep up their skills, a workout for Zoro, something more challenging for Law. Law knew who had the superior swordplay. Only a stupid man denied it. The doctor knew how to handle a sword, but a scalpel was his forte.

And Marco, thought Zoro, suddenly pushing the flat of the nodachi almost against Law's tight stomach, the surgeon losing his step, and the first-mate then tilting his katana blade under the troubled doctor's chin, until Law dropped his long sword. Zoro could taste a tiny bit of Marco in the hate and heat that the surgeon wielded, and also a desire to love and hold. 

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

He hadn't said the safe word, Marco thought, rubbing his bruised jaw, but he knew that really wasn't the point.

Luffy knew. He'd been with Law on those nights. It depended on the nightmare, but they usually had the same end result, whether historically or in the dream. If he complied, if he actively participated, if he submitted, the pain lessened. That was the theory anyway. And when one of your tormentors was Vergo and you'd only recently gained your adult height and they kept you so weak, what could you do but comply? If compliance was all you knew you complied. If anyone you could rely on was dead.

Luffy was shocked at first when his traumatised boyfriend - silent tears from whatever-the-fuck dream quicksand he was in sliding down his face - tugged at his briefs and began to tongue his cock as they slept all those years ago on the Sunny. He couldn't say he wasn't tempted, especially considering the difficulty they had negotiating their sex life. Law was at about the deepest level of psychological hell and introversion due to the captivity he'd only recently escaped, and it impacted on their intimacy, but the obvious distress, and what he knew of conscious Law, let him know that Law's actions now weren't right.

It was never Luffy's name on his lips, but  _Doffy_ , Vergo- _san_ , even  _Kizaru_  or  _Akainu_ , depending on the nightmare. The executives. The dreams of almost silent terror warranted an occasional,  _Sir_. Luffy knew they were the marines, maybe Vergo. And the self-denigration, the names he was forced to call himself, let him know Law was far away. If he couldn't wake him, if the agate didn't work, the grounding stone they used to bring Law back to reality, Luffy left the bed and slept on the deck, leaving the older man with a pillow. Eventually Law sensed no weight on the mattress beside him, on him, meaning there was no threat, no pressure for him to act in any messed up way he thought required of him.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Law couldn't say no in that condition. Marco knew it. But what was he to do? Law had only returned to their room because they had guests, and in his current state he'd done nothing but withdraw from Marco's touch for the last month or so, and yet he sought it out. His approval. Never left his side when they ventured out.

Law had slept in the other room due to the nightmares. They were emotionally draining for Marco, for anyone, but the Phoenix had helped him through time and again. They weren't letting up, though, and it was too much, so he'd removed himself.

When Law came to, out of one of those dreams, it was on the bed in the room he usually shared with Marco. His familiar form was behind, gripping and holding him. He felt twinges all up and down his neck as his partner gnawed, nipped and sucked into his skin, and kept whispering, "green light," under his breath, a query, a justification. Law couldn't move at the moment, it took some time, he guessed he must have given his consent.

It was difficult to gain his bearings at this point of waking. It was always better that Marco touched him than anyone else, but sometimes he didn't want anyone's hands on him at all. They had their understanding, with safe words, with boundaries set, sometimes Marco could take him. It was Law's least favourite form of sex with him, and the roles weren't ever reversed, Law wasn't interested. Though, if things were going well, and he was strong in himself and the relationship, spicing it up a bit was at times beneficial for them both. This wasn't one of them, but he hadn't said the safe word, even now, he was too disoriented to bring it to his tongue.

And then he felt Marco's hands under him, lifting his body until he was facing the pillow. His head in the pillow, his lower body raised. Only when they were rough did he have Law pushed into the bed or against the wall, and he ignored, he saw, but he ignored, the tensing of Law's body. Law felt the sheets bunch up beneath his face, Marco's palm against his neck. He breathed with his mouth open. Shallow breaths. "Green light," the whisper, the query, no contradiction. They'd negotiated the terms. It was okay to go ahead.

The discussion with Luffy and Zoro earlier that night had just brought Law's shame home to Marco. Law was meant to be his partner, wasn't he? By his side, not holed up in their room like a teenager. He'd let Kid use him.  _No that wasn't right_. Law was his. He had to cover, layer, smother Law with his own scent.  _Not right either_. He had to be there to help him. He didn't help him. He couldn't. He wasn't there. He hadn't known what was going on.

Law didn't say the safe word, even though his breath was quick and sharp. It was okay then, wasn't it? He was just getting into it. Marco had needs. The hair at the nape of Law's neck was damp with sweat. Law covered up because he didn't want anyone's attention but Marco's. Well, he was getting it.

Law was silent as someone lubed him up and prepped him. Wasn't he the one meant to be defining the colours of the light? Were they Doflamingo's fingers languidly stretching him out, Vergo perfunctorily breaking the skin, loosening to let him stretch it further, the marines? What could he do against them? Marco?  _Green light, green light, green light_ , Law heard, over and over, a litany in the Whitebeard pirate's soothing voice. He must have agreed.

He lifted his arms and folded them under his forehead to brace himself, having to negotiate the hand splayed on the nape of his neck. Marco? They did this sometimes, it was his duty. Doflamingo told him that. To have someone want you, you had to please them. And this pleased Doflamingo more than anything else. He tried to breathe evenly. It was always better if he relaxed. He hated not being able to see them. Only hearing their voices. Being used like a rag.

Marco steadied Law's hips and kept his upper body pushed down. He entered and waited. Law clenched. If he accepted it now it would be better later. There was a word they could use. What was that fucking word? Once all was settled, the Phoenix began. His fingers digging into Law's skin with each flick of his hips didn't elicit one whimper of pain, not yet, as he drove into Law's body, but he knew it hurt. It was just the surgeon knew how to endure much more. He picked up the pace. Law hadn't said the safe word. They only used the safe word when they were rough.

Marco's desire vetoed any unease he had as he rode Law, pushing in faster, harder, his breath catching at the back of his throat, and he bit down on his lover's shoulder and tore the skin, and he imagined Kid over this body that was his. Law didn't say the safe word. Law didn't say any words. Law, so well trained, so newly awakened from whatever instructions Doflamingo schooled him through in the dream, would do whatever was commanded. But this was consensual. Law hadn't said the safe word.

"Touch yourself."

The balance was hard, but Law did. He'd come when told to.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Law woke in the wet spot, Marco's sticky and sweaty arms around him. He extracted himself and went to the bathroom. As he splashed water on his face he drew back when he looked up at the mirror. What the fuck was that? Hickeys up and down his neck, and the skin on his shoulder, he turned around and looked at his back, the skin was broken, teeth marks. The fuck?

Law didn't shake. He was resigned. Yep. No clothes. He'd gone to bed clothed. It wasn't fucking Doflamingo then, it wasn't a fucking dream. Had he put his hands, his tongue on Marco? He knew it happened with the dreams sometimes, but he wasn't cognisant in those states. Luffy and Marco knew he wasn't cognisant.

Just about where Kid had pummelled him with that fucking flip-flop, was a slap mark? Had he agreed to this?  _Green light, green light, green light_. He recalled Marco's voice heavy with lust. Weren't they his words to say?

Fuck.

He was deliberately bruised, marked up, scratched. He remembered his head pushing into his arm, his own sweet release. Marco making him complicit. He knew he was trained, open to all suggestion in that state. He hadn't said the safe word. He hadn't known it was Marco. Not for all of it. He'd only been sixteen. He had to obey. It was wise to obey, to initiate if it pleased the young master. To show his fealty.

He took a shower. Marco mustn't have realised. They hadn't had sex for some time. The Phoenix had his needs, and Law knew there had to be give and take in any relationship. He'd marked him. He must have thought he was awake and aware.

He pulled out some clean clothes from the hamper after he dried himself and took a clean towel into the bedroom to lay on the bed over their releases. Well, his release. Marco had obviously come inside of him. He lay down, and Marco nestled into him, exhaling a contented, or was it a tentative?, sigh into Law's neck. He'd marked him. The fucker had marked him. Law stared into the greying sky, his partner's arm around him, Misery on the floor.

Had he lost the Phoenix's respect? But no, he'd asked him, Law had complied. Was this how it was going to be from now on? He knew hardly anyone could resist being with someone so damaged without damaging them some more. 

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

 "You fucked up, Marco." Zoro sat at the counter of Beach Shack. The owner, co-owner with Law, stood behind the bar.

"I really did." He sighed, drying some glasses, Law was out with Robin and Luffy. The bar was busy with the usual round of customers, but his staff could take care of it.

"You need someone to talk to?"

"I just get so resentful at times, and I know it's not fair, but I do."

Zoro sat back, one eye assessing. "It's early days, Marco. You said it yourself."

Marco wiped the counter. Neither he nor Law had used their powers to heal themselves. His face was black and blue. The staff had expressed concern, but pushed no further when Marco clammed up on them, his rarely seen temper evident.

"I'm glad he fought me."

"Beat you up." Though Zoro knew Marco allowed himself to get beaten. Not to say the doctor wasn't strong, but Marco hadn't lifted an finger against him.

"It doesn't excuse it." Marco's hands shook now. What would he do without Law? 

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

They all sat at a corner table of some arty dive Robin favoured when she came to town. Law was wearing short sleeves. He took her hand, his knuckles bruised, and didn't object when Luffy clambered all over him, though he flinched as an elbow jostled his temple. A headbutt, eh? Not his smoothest move. Nami brought beers to the table, soda for Luffy. Usopp grabbed his quickly and began chugging it down, looking at Law, more relaxed than they'd seen him in a long while. The self-possessed, dangerous sheen back in his eye. The sharpshooter shrunk a little into himself. Penguin, Shachi and Bepo sauntered over.

"Where's Phoenix?" Shachi asked, casting an eye over the table. He'd not seen the fight.

"Working, you moron." Penguin hit him.

"So why aren't we drinking there?" They always did, especially lately, Law feeling he had to keep in Marco's proximity to prove he wasn't loose, wasn't easy. Well, maybe he fucking was. He shrugged, pulled back on the neck of his beer, shifted his gaze to the patrons at the other tables.

"Zoro?" Bepo asked Luffy, though with a little more caution than his crewmates.

"With Marco."

Annoyance flashed across Law's face, and then was gone. But he was glad. He didn't want everyone to abandon him, was Sanji there too? Or he had a restaurant to run and probably was doing so.

He felt they'd see Zoro later, and Marco would be drinking at some one-shot with Izou and Vista. Were Benn and Shanks still in town? Maybe with them. Law needed this rambunctious crew tonight, and his own. He wasn't the one who'd be sleeping in the guest bedroom if he went home. Was he going home? He didn't know, but then he thought of Misery.

"Law," Nami really didn't get it. "Why did you beat up Marco? Did something snap? Did you mistake him?"

They'd grown used to his silences, but his body language was almost communicative. He looked directly at her, shrugged again. Knowing everyone's business came with this crew, and Nami's bluntness paled only in comparison to Luffy's.

"Do you need help?" the navigator asked. That volatile temper could do some damage. It was out of character, though. Law generally kept his cool.

The Heart captain sighed. Looked to the side. "I'm sure I do."

Luffy interjected. "It wasn't random, Nami."

"Misery's quite the cutie, isn't she Law?" Usopp threw in, trying to veer Nami and the conversation away from dangerous territory. Wasn't that Nami's job?

Law appreciated the gesture, but he felt calm, very calm, more calm than he'd been since Killer had walked into his surgery. Anxiety of varying intensities was sure to creep back, but Zoro was right, he wasn't shackled with seastone any longer.

He inclined his neck to the side so the redhead could see. An action provocative and alluring, he knew. His grey eyes slightly hooded, calculating. He knew she had little interest in him, so he didn't worry about a response.

"He marked me, Nami-ya," and she properly saw, though she'd noticed before, the hickeys trailing Law's neck.

She looked confused. "Isn't that what lovers do?"

"Not Law's," Penguin, Luffy and Bepo said in a rush, and Law felt his bond with the three, and was fully grateful and quietly embarrassed by it. Couldn't he just face run of the mill troubles on his own? Why was everything so loaded with him?

"Not outside of high school," Law growled. She didn't know the half of it, of course. He sipped his beer, and turned to Usopp.

"Misery's a real beauty. Thanks for throwing the ball for her and this idiot today." His expression toward Luffy showed that he thought he was a very loveable, and reliable-in-his-own-way, idiot.

Luffy laughed. "Yeah, thanks Usopp! I never thought a one-eyed mongrel could run so fast."

"A misfit and a mongrel," Usopp cackled thinking of the two of them tumbling around Law and Marco's yard, before the fight.

That described just about all of them thought Law as he drained another quarter of his beer, grateful for Luffy and Usopp's deliberate interruptions, as the Strawhat captain excitedly described that day's adventures with the dog, God-ya supplying his own hyperbole. What did Usopp know? It was unusual to have him on his side.

His eyes met Penguin's across the table, and his subordinate wondered what Law would do. What would Marco do? He was a good man, and Law knew it. Or was he really? He needed some time out, some time alone, some time to think, plan and assess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Glad to let Law have a fight.
> 
> *daks is Australian slang for trousers, underdaks are underwear.


	5. You're in a Shitload of Trouble, Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco needs to seriously consider things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter lightly refers to events from the first few chapters of [_Repossession_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29125485) (read the warnings) and to some events from later chapters. Hopefully it can be read stand alone. As stated in _Repossession_ , the idea of flensing the brands was drawn from Dr_Cyance's, _Worth_.

 

* * *

**Chapter 5: You're in a shitload of trouble, brother**

* * *

When he woke, he knew Law hadn't come home. He went to the main bedroom, just in case, but the bed was as they had left it. Precisely made, no hint of scent or body indentation to indicate that anyone had even rested on it. Marco had put himself in the guest room.

The burner he'd set up to diffuse Law's favourite oils throughout the house had run its course. Law used oils in the surgery to help alleviate the patients' stress, and Marco loved returning home to the relaxing smell of lavender and citrus too, a hint of pepper. He hadn't known what those scents were at first, of course, just that it smelt good. Law knew all there was to know about herbs and spices, and their properties.

The oven timer and the stove itself, keeping warm the grilled fish that the bar cook had prepared at Marco's request, switched off some time early morning. He'd feed the now dried-out fish to Misery later, making sure he removed the bones.

He switched his phone back on. He had debated leaving it on. Law could run into trouble. Either of them could, but with the now historical, but still public knowledge of Law's status as a very personal slave to Doflamingo - information released by the pink feathered bastard himself when he'd been alive - Law's situation was unique.

He'd escaped twice. Once as a sixteen year old and then when he was caught after Dressrosa, held captive for two years. Vergo was one of his tormenters, not having succumbed at Punk Hazard. Branded both times too, Law had flensed the marks soon after each flight. Marco had first met him a few months after his second emancipation, when they were both sailing with Shanks for a while. The Heart Pirate had been with Luffy at that time.

The information that Law was owned by another had been plastered everywhere in the crudest of terms by that vindictive prick, Akainu. The Heart Captain's second escape wasn't directly from Doflamingo, but rather from the marines. They had raided the Don Quixote compound and Law was thrown from one hellhole to another. They managed to hold him for a few days only. Akainu's resentment ran deep. The younger man had already been in his shitbooks. 

There was always the chance of running into some belligerent and entitled shit who formed all his opinions about Law from the old posters outlining that he was not even one step up from the lowest of gutter crawlers, and that if one encountered him, they could do to him what they wished before collecting the bounty. The last was implied, but the lurid descriptions accompanying the posters, the fact he had been wanted, dead or alive, all but sealed that fate for Law in the eyes of many seafaring men. As did news that he sported a brand. That it was flensed was not generally known. He had been trained to cater for the worst of their imaginations, after all. Witness Kid. 

 _If_  they could catch him.

That entitled bastard was now him. He ran a hand through his hair as he plopped onto their couch. He smiled lopsidedly. They were so domesticated. As he sat back, he winced as pain shot through his body from his casual movements. Law really had worked him over. Did that put lie to that domesticity? An extreme reaction to an extreme action.

The bruises didn't stop Marco from worrying about him. Never had the Heart Pirate lifted a hand against him before. He'd made himself relax before falling asleep, knowing Law was out with Luffy and the others. True, anything could happen with Luffy, but if anyone had Law's back, it was the Strawhat captain – Pirate King now – and Robin. Checking his phone every two seconds wasn't healthy, so he'd powered it off when he went to bed. As it flickered to life now, his heart skipped a beat as a message from Law flashed across the screen.

 _At Robin's. Staying till the end of the week. Take care of Misery_. The timestamp was 2am. Had they spent the night gossiping about him? Tearing him to shreds. Could he call him? Could he message back? It wouldn't hurt to message back.

It was six in the morning. Law never slept. But if he went to bed late, he might actually be catching a bit of shut-eye.

_Will do. Can we talk?_

It didn't take long for a reply to come through. That either meant he was awake, or was also keeping an eye on his phone. A part of him wanted to it to be the latter.

 _Thanks. Not yet. Chopper will take care of the clinic_.

Marco looked at the 'yet' and  _not_  at the 'Not' and allowed himself a flutter of hope.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Sanji wasn't with them. Law got up and made eggs, and yes, toast for Robin, and whoever else was in the house. This motley crew he'd grown to love and share parts of his life with. He put the lid on the fry pan so the yolks would turn pink, switched off the burner to let them cook in the remaining heat, oil spitting against the cover.

He had to find out about Ace. It was imperative. And then when he found the answer, what would he do? And then, even if the answer was the same as his situation would it excuse Marco?

No. But the man had helped him and held him through one dark situation after another. What was the way, their way, through this?

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

"Ace fell asleep on me more than once."

Zoro shot him a look that translated as _, You're in deep shit, brother_. He wondered to himself if he even wanted to know this. He guessed he also was in too deep now.

"I stopped," Marco said, running his hand over his hair. "Every fucking time, even if I had to count to a thousand to calm everything down. If I knew, you know." You could nearly always tell. Ace's body would suddenly fall limp. He'd be keeping an eye out for it.

Then again, Zoro had been the one to threaten Law on the sick bed post-op way back on the Sunny, but also the one to free him from Kid.

"I'm a piece of shit," the Phoenix said.


	6. Sorry, not Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misery misses Law. Conversations in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sections in this touch upon chapter [23](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29127657), [24](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29127807) and especially [27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29128311) in [Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29125485), where Marco is a huge support. Please read any warnings.
> 
> Chapters [16](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29126877) and [17](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29126958) also. 
> 
> ***Spoilers*** for _Repossession_. Doflamingo does not live to see the end of that fic.

 

* * *

  **Chapter 6 - Sorry, not Sorry**

* * *

One week stretched into two, then three, then Law was almost a month away, and neither Marco nor Misery had seen him, and they missed him with a low lying thrum, as if every space buzzed with his absence. Or maybe Misery had seen him. He'd dropped by while Marco was out to pick up some clothes and books.

Marco's father had never treated his mother right, and though it filled him with fury the way his fists connected to bone, her bones, he was his role model. Somewhere deep in his being was the same action and reaction and he needed to be aware of it, and he didn't want it to be him.

Like Marco's mother, Law had learnt to acquiesce when it meant survival. Even then, he was stupid, and was beaten and hurt more than he might have been, because he couldn't help mouthing off. As soon as he was strong enough, he got himself out of those situations, but unfortunately, his enemies were stronger. Marco's father's empty words to his mother.  _"You know I didn't mean it, right? I love you. I only did it because I love you. You make me hurt you."_  He couldn't be that man, wouldn't be that man, but he had been.

He didn't pester Law, he didn't crowd him. He wanted him in his life, but he knew he'd been way out of line. He knew he had to wait it out, and he knew he might be waiting a long time. Law might never come through.

"It's exhausting. The nightmares are exhausting," he told Shanks and Benn.

"Exhausting, but not an excuse, Marco."

"I realise that."

"You guys need some help."

Marco nodded. He could understand Law due to his own background, his own nature, but that very background also showed him how he could hurt Law, if he let himself. He was so glad his lover had fought back. 

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

If he could still call him that. He thought he could. Law hadn't called anything off yet. Once a week Marco would text,  _Can we talk_? At first he had texted more often, but Law would only respond once, unless it was the Hearts captain who initiated the messaging for practical reasons.

 _Not yet_. From Law. Not,  _No_. But  _Not yet_. He heard that he was open again, sassy, not giving a fuck. Was that a side-benefit to his anger at Marco's actions? Not that there was anything positive about them. He knew Law would have come out of his introspection sooner or later, but he seemed to have burst back into  _don't you fuck with me_ territory, and  _I'll do whatever the fuck I want_ , with aplomb. With something similar to Marco's own Phoenix tendencies to renew, to rise gloriously.

He asked after Misery. Once a week. Marco knew he thought about her more than that. She'd been with them about two months when Law left, and the two of them had a definite bond.  _How's she doing? Are you walking her enough? Is she sleeping? Where's she sleeping?_

Law couldn't bring himself to ask if she missed him, knowing too much else would be read into the statement. But Marco always wrote that she did, careful not to include himself in the comment. Law had to make his decision with a clear head. And did she what. She'd dragged one of his shirts from the laundry to where she slept, and curled up on it, growling when Marco tried to wash it. Law was going to kill him if he ever manage to free it from her. Surely no number of wash cycles would remove the doggy pong now. He didn't blame her though, and he thought he should do the same. He missed the Heart Pirate's scent.

She was the one who brought them together, of course. The park bench, the one Law had sat on with Robin the week before the fight, before all this shit went down, was their rendezvous. Misery sensed Law before Marco did. So much for observation haki. Ears perked, body tense, small whines escaping her, she looked at the very vacant horizon. Those whimpers building to a near crescendo when Law's tall figure, dressed in black, appeared in the distance. Was that a whistle? Her tail scattered the dirt below her from where she sat near Marco. Once he reached the seat she was ecstatic, jumping around like a dog ten years younger.

Marco's heart raced with the same enthusiasm, but he played it cool, not cold, but cool. He knew any form of reconciliation had to come from Law. Initially, at least.

Law looked nervous. His tatts on display. The short-sleeved shirts back again. Fuck Kid. He smiled when he saw Marco, his eyes, even his mouth, before he commanded his features into stillness. He loved the Phoenix's body, his mind, every centimetre of it, except for the part he never wanted to believe existed, and hadn't thought it did, until a month ago. He couldn't stop his smile when he saw Misery. She wouldn't let him  _not_  pay attention to her.

It didn't excuse a single thing, but he knew how hard it was to deal with someone recovering, going through the things that Law had and was. They both had to fight conditioning at every turn. Their own and that of others, and usually they fucking won. Because the people they loved were more than good enough.

Hell, Cora had thrown him out of a goddamn building, and forgiven a knife attack from Law. He swallowed. Canted his head to the side. Maybe that wasn't the best role model, but he'd give his eye teeth to have one ounce of Cora-san's integrity. He itched to place his hand in Marco's own. It was so familiar. He knew how those fingers felt curved around his own. Not yet. Not for some fucking time.

Marco was already sitting, and he wanted to stand and hug Law to him, and kiss him on the lips, and forehead, and feel those earrings under his fingers. He wanted to just sit at their kitchen table, a pot of coffee between them, each of them turning the pages of whatever they were reading. Law, maybe pulling back on a joint, passing it his way to share, his hand pushing his hair back, resting on his brow as he read. But he remained seated.

Law stood up from where he'd crouched to greet Misery, his nodachi almost as tall as him. He looked cool, but Marco knew Law's nervousness probably matched his own. His was eating him alive. Or maybe he'd just done this as a big favour and felt nothing for him anymore. But he had come.

The silence went on for too long.

"Is it over?" Marco finally asked, looking out at the bushes.

"Do you want it to be?" Law stared at the same bunch of leaves.

"Don't answer a question with a question."

Law smiled. It was a habit that drove Marco crazy.

"How's Robin?"

"She's the best." Law ran his hand at the back of his neck. It wasn't a comparison, a putdown. This is why Marco's actions surprised Law. Devastated him. They weren't jealous lovers. They'd had any number of slurs levelled at them throughout their lifetime, enough to make them hate themselves, and hate those who loved them, but they'd mostly seen those shadow puppets for what they were, and of course there were the ups and downs of any relationship, but for the most part, they were fucking there for each other.

"It compounded the trauma, Marco." Law's eyes looked over briefly. They were aware, alight, alert. Not the eyes he'd had after Killer's visit. Not the eyes of self-judgement that had so much been part of his attitude over the few months prior. Marco knew he was addressing his original question.

"Kid, Killer, you."

I'm  _not_  them, Marco wanted to yell. Killer wasn't Kid. He held his tongue.

"It takes some getting over."

He looked up hopeful. "Can you?"

Law shrugged. "It's a lot to ask."

"My father beat my mother," Marco started, looking straight ahead again. Law wondered if he knew this. He should know it. Marco knew a good percentage of his life story. Was he manipulating him?

"Into the wall, onto the ground, and then all that follows."

Law nodded. Let out a sound of disapproval.

"I hated him, I swore I wouldn't become him."

Yet here we are, thought Law. He sat down. Marco sighed with relief. Inwardly. Law rested Kikoku against the bench. Another good sign.

"I won't become him, Law. He'd apologise to her. –  _It won't happen again. I'm sorry. You made it happen –_." His hands were in fists on thighs so he wouldn't grip them. "I know you've heard all this and more."

It was true. The words just swam over Law like gossamer, the thread softly holding him in place, and tying him down.

"I  _am_  sorry, though. It  _won't_  happen again. I'm ashamed, and we need help," he wanted to add  _babe_ , but he refrained. "We need help to cope with your nightmares."

Law stiffened. It was his fault then.

"No," Marco shook his head at the change in Law's body language. He wanted to touch him. "No, I was out of line. Way out of line. But they wear the both of us out, Law. They keep you trapped where you don't want to be."

Law looked down at his nails. Misery was sitting on his foot, and it didn't seem she'd be moving herself anytime soon.

"That's true," Law said, "But not yet." He hoped Marco would wait. If he didn't, then he obviously wasn't worth it, or they weren't meant to be, and Law wasn't stringing him along, but he had to know he'd be respected if he returned to this relationship. It was tantamount to its survival. He had to know what he wanted. Getting help was maybe something they should pursue separately anyway.

Marco nodded. He knew Law wasn't being prissy. If there was even a sliver of hope, he'd take it.

"You still want to proceed?" Law asked, his voice tired, but well-modulated. He waved a hand between them. "With this thing, with me, with us?"

" _Yes_ ,  _Yes_  and  _Yes_. And you?"

Law looked at him directly, his hat shadowing his face, and there was none of the humour Marco knew brimmed just below the surface when they were usually together. Before he'd fucked things up. Very little of the Law that Marco knew and maybe only he knew. It was closed off. Maybe even to Law himself. The bags under his eyes weren't as black as they sometimes were though. He was sleeping well. Good.

"I want to believe you, Marco." Law looked at his black eyes, steady as a rock, though tinged with worry. "Next week? Same bench? Same time?"

That was quick, easy. Wait. Was Law already going?

Law knew he had to get out of there before he capitulated to something without thinking it through, or the opposite, he cut it dead, before it had a chance to renew. He turned back and scratched Misery behind her ears, put his hand to Kikoku and started to rise before Marco responded.

Marco nodded. "Okay," he said, leaning forward to leash the dog. before she followed her preferred master out of the park. She'd started whining the minute Law stretched out.

The younger man crouched down again, put his face near hers. "Be good." She wiggled on her haunches.

He stood and walked away without looking back, spine straight. Despite the yips begging him to turn around.

"Law," Marco called after him, and he stopped, "You're strong. You deserve the best."

Law looked at him over his shoulder, a little puzzled, but nodded tersely and then walked on. Marco's father had only called his mother ugly things throughout the relationship, except when he was riddled with guilt. Marco didn't do that to Law. Hadn't.

True, after Kid's assault, some of the ugly expressions reared, but he tried to watch them and let them dissipate, float away. He didn't let them tumble from his mouth or roost in his heart. They were an ingrained, reactive and repressive way of dealing with stress, that he could control. Marco hoped it was apparent he had respect for Law. He didn't want to lose what they had. 

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

"I'm not sorry," Law said, "for not killing Kid." He sat on the bench with Marco. Misery had clambered up on the seat and rested her head on Law's lap. It was a little grey overhead.

Marco made sure he was early, just as he had been last time. There was no way he was going to fuck up any chances, and he knew he wouldn't stand one if Law had to sit there waiting.

He had two take-away cups of coffee, both brewed the way either man liked it. Law had accepted the drink with thanks.  _Mark_  was scribbled on the side. The doctor smiled. They could never get it right.

The dog must have known Law was coming. She had refused to play with the other dogs, or to run about, sitting right by Marco's side until Law appeared. Now the tattooed pirate ran his hands through her fur, coffee on the bench beside him. She was too big and clumsy for this.

"Why aren't you out there playing?" His voice was soft with humour when he spoke to her.

"She sleeps on one of your t-shirts. She won't let me wash it."

Law turned to look at Marco. Really? It warmed him, but he was sorry to cause her stress. Marco nodded, as if Law had spoken. He turned back to her.

"Sorry, old girl. I'm sorry, I'm gone."

She just looked up at him with her one, puppy dog eye. She licked at his hand. Marco wondered at the statement.

Law sat back against the seat, his arms spread along it. He picked up his drink and took a sip. It wasn't as perfect as when he brewed it at home, but it was good. The kick seeped into his pores.

Misery tried to get closer to his lap, to encourage him to not stop petting her. There was no small talk between the two men, except about the dog. Marco looked good, Law thought, as if he was taking care of himself. Good.

"I've weighed up whether I should have killed him, many times. I still think about it, and I think it would have made you feel better, or even if you could have done it. That would have helped you."

Marco grunted and nodded.

"I know a lot of people think I'm weak for not taking him out, or trying to. And the next assumption is that what happened was because I'm weak. You know, eternal victim. I think it myself sometimes." He spoke down at Misery, and a sardonic smile twisted his face. He slipped his hand between her collar and fur, rubbing her neck.

"I don't forgive him, Marco. I hope he learned something at Ivankov's, but I can't know. It doesn't stop, you know, the cycle. The eye for an eye. Maybe I learnt that from Dressrosa. You hit someone and they hit you back harder because perceptions of pain vary. Nothing stops, if I'd taken him out."

"Wouldn't your pain stop?" Marco willed Law to look at him, and he was rewarded with a glance. Marco's face flushed slightly, and he sipped at his coffee to hide it.

"The coffee is good. Thanks."

Marco nodded his acknowledgement.

Law took another sip and looked ahead. "Pain just gets buried or exacerbated, I think. My anger would grow exponentially, and I already have enough to drown all the oceans. I'm not weak, because of it, because it happened."

"No, I . . . "

"I know, Marco. You helped me through. God, what would I have done in those first few weeks, immediately after, if not for you?" Law talked to the dog now. His face was clear, and then conflicted. He was sorry for what he'd put the Whitebeard pirate through, but so thankful he'd been there.

"But I see you, when you slip sometimes. I know how to read men maybe better than anyone else around."

He turned his gaze to his lover, his ex-lover? Boring straight into him. Law's words were not haughty. Not accusatory. Matter of fact.

"I know when their intention is to hurt me, because they think they're entitled to it, I deserve it, or they're just fucking so frustrated they need to snap someone in two. I've been reading that all my life."

"You're not angry at Kid?" Marco knew his hand was shaking. He wrapped both hands around the drink in a hope to still it. He hoped Law couldn't see. How could he affect him so much? The first-division commander?

"Furious. You?"

"I still want to tear him from limb to limb." He spread his fingers out. A little more steady.

"And I'm the next best thing. How can you love me when he was able to take me so easily,  _right_? When he was able to take me? When I brought it on myself? I could be hospitalised and still face the same reaction. How did I fucking let it happen? Joker let me have it if anyone else touched me, whether I'd invited it or not. Unless of course he was the one inviting.

"I'm not property, Marco. No number of brands, bruises, papers or words will convince me otherwise."

So calm. Everything was said deadpan, precise, and in a manner that indicated his words were not up for debate. His hand didn't stop petting the dog. Some blip on the horizon held his attention.

"Law . . . "

He dropped his head. "I know it's only sometimes, Marco. I know it. I know it's not everything between us, not even a percentage, but when it happens, it rips my world in two."

He turned to face the Phoenix again, his face tight, eyes glaring. "Why do you see me that way? And when you do, well, shouldn't I contemplate taking your life too, if we go back to the original topic?" Law placed his drink beside him. It was almost finished.

Marco stiffened, but nodded. Both were fair questions. He'd observed Law grow wary around him when his anger spiked over Kid. And he'd more than blurred the boundaries of consent and had justified his actions to himself, just as Kid had mouthed off about Law, thinking the more he slandered him, the less responsible he was for his own crimes. Marco had broken the trust between them.

He let out a sigh, wondering idly why Misery didn't show  _him_  any attention. He was the one feeding her. Though he wasn't sighing about his unpopularity with the dog. He didn't blame her. If he could, he'd be the one trying to sneak onto Law's lap.

"At those times, I'm not seeing you, Law. I'm seeing my failure to be there for you. And then I think, you're so strong, why do I need to be there for you?"

"Again and again."

"No," Marco said quietly. "I've thought about it, and it happens sometimes, Law, due to the way the world is, our world is, but it harms both of us to think it's something recurring. Grievous assaults have been few and far between since you escaped."

"They're all fucked," Law spat, any unwanted attention was, "and it's happened to me more often than your average bear." Far more grievously too. He removed his hand from Misery's fur, and wiped it over his mouth and chin. It stank to high heavens. He pulled it away. "Haven't you washed her lately?"

Marco shrugged.

"Attacks have happened a hell of a lot more often across your lifetime," Marco agreed, ignoring Law's question about Misery's hygiene, "but like I said after those nightmares the second night after Kid, not for many years. It's wrong for either of us to think it's something inevitable, inescapable."

Law knew Marco was right. They'd had this conversation a number of times. He recalled that night. He'd desperately needed Marco, and he'd been there for him. Maybe it was time for small talk now. How was the bar going? What did Marco think about the weather? What had he and Zoro talked about that night?

"I don't think you even know why you let Kid live."

Law flashed a glance his way. Still dead serious. Still withdrawn and protective. But, he was here, Marco thought. It was a gesture of some kind of faith. He knew Law wouldn't be here having a tête-à-tête with Kid, would be trying to think of ways to wipe out Doflamingo, if he were still around. He wasn't them, and Law knew it, or was trying to convince himself of it.

"I wasn't keen on starting another pirate war, or having his whole crew come after me." He probably could have avoided jail with Smoker and Luffy's influence. Could have taken Kid out. He had some powerful allies.

"Ever the pragmatist."

"And I don't have to like him."

"Or the situation."

"There are more enjoyable ways to pass the time."

Marco couldn't stop himself. He laughed out loud at Law's sass. His understated, self-deprecating, biting humour. "You, Nana, fuck, I miss you so much."

Law coloured. Don't Marco. Don't say it. It was too soon. He was Nana to Marco due to his vanilla tastes, his old lady hobbies, and what brought them here didn't wear that flavour. He loved, had loved? Marco for many reasons, chief among them that he could accept Law felt safe within clearly defined boundaries, the polar opposite of what Joker and others had projected onto him; that, until recently, he'd respected and helped maintain.

"Worry about me when I let Doflamingo live," he murmured.

"I really will, because it will be the second coming."

"He's pretty good at that. Have you ever fought one of those string clones of his?" Ever had one pin you down? Law's hand ran along his throat as it always did when he recalled Doflamingo's strings.

"He's gone. Vergo's gone. Kid's banished."

"Only Akainu and Kizaru remain," Law drawled. And a room full of marines tapping at the back of his mind.

"I don't want to lose you, Law."

It was unseasonably cold, and Law was wearing his feathers. He tucked his chin into them.

"Will you come back?"

The younger man sighed. He looked down at his hands. His tattoos. "We need to renegotiate the guidelines."

"Of course."

"I'm not saying I'm coming back, but if we get to that point,  _never_  fuck me when I'm coming out of a nightmare. I don't know what I'm saying. What I'm agreeing to."

It still really pissed him off. Justifiably. Come back? No way in hell. Now  _his_  hand, away from Marco, shook. The other was hidden patting the pup. Then again, here he sat.

"Of course."

Law looked over. Was he just saying that?

"We've had six good years, Law."

The park was slowly filling with strollers and toddlers, yappy dogs chasing balls. Misery languidly wagged her sharp tail. Maybe she could get Law to throw a stick or something.

"What if I'm hurt again? Will you want to do it again? When I shut down and switch off?"

Climb on top of me, and just root away, because you can? Law left the thoughts unsaid, but it didn't diminish the anger and humiliation coiled in his gut.

"You gotta look after that shit, Law. What did Zoro say?"

Of course the two would talk. Who didn't talk in this crossbred pirate world? Law felt his wrists. There were the old indentations, but Marco was right, he wasn't wearing the seastone.

"It's really hard to interact with you when your lack of self-esteem decides to rule the roost."

"It gives you permission?" Law bit off the words.

"No, but it blocks me out. I'm using one behaviour to justify the other, and that's not right. I don't want to lose you Law, but when you feel yourself sinking, we've got to get help."

He nodded. "I brought it on myself?"

"No, but I want you to be happy."

His life with Marco had been good.

"What about your father? When you feel yourself slipping into his patterns?"

"We both need help."

"Ace?"

Marco knew what he was asking. He paused. Swallowed. This was the crux. Law was very still beside him. Had he stopped breathing? Marco knew he was taking everything in.

"If I noticed it, and I  _was_  looking out for it, cos, you know, everyone knew about his narcolepsy, and me more than most of course, I stopped, no matter what."

"I see," Law inhaled, calmed the icy pit that had just formed in his belly, looked to his hands again. "Did, I touch you? I know I can in that state." He quickly looked over. A slight flush to his face. That would explain some of it.

Marco shook his head.

Law looked at his hands, and  started cleaning around the cuticles of the nails on the good hand with the stunted thumbnail of the other.

"Did I call anyone's name? Yours? Doflamingo? Vergo?" He started chewing on the mutated nail . . .

Marco shook his head again, almost crying.

"Good," Law said. "If you'd kept going when . . ."

"I know."

When he'd called out a name of someone so obviously invading his psyche, so abhorrent to him, then that would be more fucked up than Law could bear.

Would he have kept going?

"How much did you really think I'd given consent?" Calm and cold. A million miles away from his own self. Or maybe that was his own self. Marco knew Law viewed himself that way, often.

"I was angry. You were tempting. You were lying right beside me. We hadn't had sex for so long. You kept avoiding me, even while being with me." Another man had been all over you. Marco kept the thought to himself. "I checked in. We have an agreement, Law."

Law's lip curled, remembering the repeated reassurance given in the Phoenix's voice, not his own.  _Green fucking light_. He sat in silence and then lifted Misery's head, and slid out from under her. She crawled on her belly, and tried to get him to stay. He shushed her. Patted her head and grabbed Kikoku.

"Not yet," he said, straightened his clothes, and called up a blue dome.

Marco didn't even have to grip Misery's collar. Law was gone before he could say goodbye.


	7. Hold on. Help is on its Way. I'll be there as fast as I can.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lumberjack, a prostitute, a surgeon and a phoenix.

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Hold on. Help is on its Way. I'll be there as fast as I can.**

* * *

They both asked Chopper, separately, who he might know. Innocent Chopper. The reindeer gained trust from everyone from everywhere. Unlike Law. The pirate had thought about asking Smoker but, even though the World Government was now fairer, he didn't see too many ex-Slaves in their ranks. They knew all there was to know about genocide though – but maybe they'd never been on the receiving end. He could just imagine how that would go.

"Why'd you wipe out my people, my parents, my sister, my friends?"

"Oh. We missed one? That was careless of us. But wait, pirate scum, didn't you put your sister in that closet?"

Fuck. No way was the World Government having a chance to play with his mind again.

On reflection, maybe there weren't too many people anywhere who had experienced death in the way he had: – parents' death – little sister's. Yes. Responsible? World government. Responsible? Law's own unknowing hands. Guilt? Yes.

Teacher and friends' deaths. Yes. Responsible? World Government.

Abject horror? Natch. Tick that off the list. A cartload of corpses were welcome companions if it guaranteed his escape. But it still made his skin crawl.

Suffering from and escaping a fatal disease? Got that down pat.

Watching, or hearing, the only true kindness you'd been shown since the genocide get shot to death not a metre from you? Leading Vergo's unforgiving fists directly to his bullet-ridden body before that? Yup, Law could claim that one. And then to have those unforgiving fists attack you on that day, and then for the next three years of your life?

Systematic abuse under the guise of slavery and discipline from Vergo, Doflamingo, the Executives? Teaching him a lesson or two? Law could raise his hand. Doflamingo executing Luke, a friend he'd made on the ship, another young slave, one who Law had had the audacity to kiss, and Joker forcing his teenaged self to watch? Bring on the panic attacks. Bring 'em on!

Escape – thank god, ten years of freedom, and then goddamn motherfucking recapture. Shit. More abuse, Doflamingo, Vergo, Executives, marines, admirals and fleet admirals. Relentless. Never fucking-ending. Two years of it, and then escape.

Meltdown, could you blame him? Recovery, going swimmingly with some understandable setbacks, and then Eustass freaking Kid. Marco the Phoenix being the cherry on top. Both sweet and rotten.

And they wondered why he had nightmares. His hands weren't shaking. He thought that was extraordinary. He held one up in front of him, and admired the tattoo on the back of it. Even though it disguised Doflamingo's brand, he owned it now. His fingers, those letters, the way he could twist them to affect everything, everything in his sphere. He dropped his hand to his lap.

Even so, there were enough professionals who had been to hell and back who might understand where he was coming from. Maybe he could help them with their problems. He had the field covered. A little taste of their poison might be the anti-venom needed to counter his own.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Marco had suffered trauma. Who hadn't? But he was better able to cope with it. His easy temperament, having found Oyaji early on, having had those years with Ace. But he didn't want his birth father's behaviour to affect his own. For Law. For himself.

Chopper recommended a burly man who wore cable knit sweaters, or would have, if the island ever dropped in temperature. He was born in cooler climes. He'd done a bit of jail time, smuggling, and had been a lumberjack by trade before getting qualified by mail correspondence. Though he seemed dubious, his cognitive behavioural therapy methods were superlative.

Law's counsellor was an ex-slave who definitely knew the grimmer side of life. She'd worked as a prostitute for a few years after emancipation, and continued to turn tricks while she studied for her degree. She was also a doctor. She knew all about the underground sex trafficking, and had witnessed firsthand those returning from Joker's cruelty. She sat on government boards trying to support and guide those escaping from torture, exploitation. She was intrigued. The Surgeon of death, hmm? He knew Doctor Kureha?

Shanks offered Law rum as an antidote for bad dreams, and Benn said it was best that he tried counselling - not for Marco, but for himself. His inked-up ally grudgingly agreed.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

"Well, fuck a duck, if you haven't had one hell of a journey," Trixie said, looking over Trafalgar Law's massively fat whopping file. Jeez Louise.

"Seems I don't have to tell you anything." He was a bit disturbed by how thick it was. He liked to fly under the radar. He guessed it was gathered post-Dressrosa and Punk Hazard. Post-teaming up with Luffy. Though there was that Sabaody incident. The Shichibukai stint. The whole one hundred hearts thing.

She flipped over a page or two. "The marines were very thorough." Her eyes grew wide, reading something salacious.

Law leant over the table. Post-his escape from that fucking facility.

"Don't," he said, closing the file on her, "Believe everything you read." His eyes flashed.

Trixie looked like she wanted to draw back on a cigarette. She didn't draw back from Law. She wasn't scared. She definitely wanted to open that file again.

Her hair was mahogany, and she looked like a truck stop Mama working the counter of some deserted cafe. She gave him a wide smile. She'd seen Joker in action. Maybe even Law? That younger shadow with a very sharp scalpel.

"But I think we've been there. We've done what they outline, haven't you Law?"

Law's eyes narrowed. This was not going to be a walk in the park.

"Not for pleasure, Trixie. Not as a free man." Not outside of chains in one form or another. Not something he happily recalled. "Wouldn't you agree?"

She took an e-cigarette and began vaping away. "Yeah, sorry Love. My file's pretty terrible, but yours is  _horrendous_."

He could sport a pair of handcuffs, though, could he what! And that glower. Hot,  _hot_ , hot. She  _had_  winced at the photo of the brand. Hers was on her back, and it tingled at the thought. Despite any numbing gel they might use – and she guessed that Doflamingo wasn't the sort, especially when he was disciplining his underling – it hurt. She remembered the photos of his back, too.

Law wondered who'd compiled the file. Sengoku? If so, it might be sympathetic. If they were looking at old files, Kizaru's or Akainu's, no such luck. He eyed Trixie dubiously.

"Is there any trauma you haven't gone through?" She pushed the file out of reach. Then rested her gaze on his black shirt, trying to imagine how the tattoo she could see cresting at the neck might swirl on the skin below it. Calm, Trix. You're here to help, not to harass.

"I haven't been forced to fuck a dead body yet."

The therapist blanched. Law smirked.

"You think you will be?"

"More likely to be my corpse desecrated." There were times when he'd felt not very far removed from that.

She blanched again.

"Doflamingo's dead." She tapped a pen to her teeth, the cigarette in her other hand.

"Thank fuck for that." But at least she got it. Nothing was beyond that freak. Akainu and Kizaru still made his blood curl, but they were in exile.

"Is that a real concern?"

Law shook his head. "Just messing with you Doctor. I had loving parents. I had a guardian who loved me. I have a dog who adores me."

Dead. Dead. Misery was still with him, sweet thing. And I have all that, he eyed the file. Or all  _that_  the information in that file caused. Kid. Law had been a slave. Kid felt entitled because of it. She knew how it was.

"I might have a loving partner."

Trixie noted the might.

"And that's why I'm here."

Law sat stiffly on the seat opposite her desk. "You  _are_  a doctor, aren't you?"

She nodded. "Medical and psychotherapist. What can we do for you?"

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Really, what could she do? How did you deal with the level of trauma Law had experienced, and why would Law trust her enough to divulge his vulnerabilities?

Marco.

Because she'd been a slave. Because she'd worked the streets.

A peaceful life.

Was Marco a cause for his nightmares now?

Trixie had worked with the survivors of wars, of attacks. She was one. She knew more than most.

Law's second appointment was a more relaxed affair. Trixie sat in one armchair, Law in the other. The nodachi didn't leave his side. She let the clients sit where they wanted, and he chose the chair that gave him the view of the door, and the window. The e-cigarette was nearby. She wrote, pen and paper.

"You use a grounding stone?"

Law was turning it in his hands now. He passed the orange-and-white-striped gem her way.

"Agate. It can be very effective."

She felt it, and realised that he was stressed, or averting stress if he'd pulled it out. But that was wise. That was management.

"But it's slow working, you were saying?" She handed it back, leaning across the table.

Law nodded. "It can be. It doesn't always work either."

She paused, tapping her teeth again. Law wondered if he'd get annoyed by it.

"Has it been working lately?"

"Works best if there are two to go through the breathing."

"No, then."

Law nodded. He used the agate when he was on his own, but the more extreme nightmares found him with Marco's hand clasping it to his own, and urging Law to ground himself in Marco's own easy and reliable breath. Luffy too. They'd helped him through so many times. Until Marco decided not to. Law was still confused.

"Love, I'd like you to try something for me."

Trixie handed him a notebook and a pen.

"This has worked for people suffering from extreme events. It helps alleviate nightmares brought on by trauma – rape, assault, witnessing. . . "

Law put his hand up. He got it.

"You write your latest nightmare down but you change it in the writing. If the nightmare is too triggering, write down a lesser one. If you have a recurring one, that's the one you concentrate on. For example, if you dream you're drowning, imagine standing in shallow water."

Law took it in. Water was a nightmare for any fruit user, of course, but he got what she was saying. It seemed simple, but he stared down at the book and pen without opening it. Did she want him to do this now? He moved uncomfortably in the seat across from her, still feeling the gem in his palm, the gift from Luffy.

"What is it?" Trixie asked.

Law looked across at her. His hat sat on the floor next to his chair. His black hair spiked out. It should be flattened really. It was difficult to control.

"You were exploited too. You know what it's like." He didn't choose her because she'd had an easy life. "I don't think there are any lesser nightmares."

"Is that what the dreams are?"

Law nodded. He knew she was referring to the time they were used. Human trafficking. Doflamingo's plaything.

"Mostly. Sometimes it's when he made me cut people up. Other times I'm back in Flevance or escaping it. What I went through in Dressrosa."

That city was just one strike after the other against him. He was surprised that Doflamingo hadn't cut his arm off again when he recaptured him. Guess it made him less likely to be durable, less likely to be able to accommodate his very unwanted attention.

"You're always in danger?"

That's what nightmares are. He lifted his head to indicate yes. He wasn't comfortable talking, but fuck if he wouldn't get these debilitating things out of his life.

"And being abused, in real time, but with memories from the past. It makes me almost sick to even mention Doflamingo's name, let alone write it down." He felt his insides twist and turn as if the freak himself were rotating them.

"Could we just use a pronoun?"

Law swallowed and nodded. "That might work. Could we rename him?"

"That's rewriting your dream. Sounds like a good way to take back your power."

"Fuckwit will do."

"Sounds angry, but if you're okay with it . . ."

Law closed his eyes for a moment. He was far enough removed from that freak that he could and had cauterised the repulsion that swept through him, for himself and for the older, now very dead, man. Kid, Killer and the Phoenix had brought everything to the surface again.

"No, you're right. It's just he could manipulate everything. My body with strings, my mind with his words. Marco says he's still here," Law tapped his sternum. "The worst of his strings were the parasite ones. They controlled you, and they live up to their name. I wonder if you can ever truly remove them from your flesh. He  _would_  find a way to turn that name back on me. Even in my dreams." Especially in his dreams, perhaps.

"Hon, maybe before the bad things happen, write it so they can't."

He nodded. "It can't bring back the dead." He thought of Corazon and Luke.

"No, but it might stop the nightmares."

Law sat with his hands folded into one another, as if waiting to receive communion, looking down.

"They've been with me for so long."

"The nightmares?"

Law nodded, now keeping her gaze.

"Can't guarantee they'll go away, but it's worth a try, right? And even if it just means they happen less than before, it's still a win, right?"

It would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters from _Repossession_ have reference to this chapter are [chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29126514) (Law/Luffy), chapter [17](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29126958), chapter [18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29127234) and chapter [27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29128311) where Luffy (Ch 12) and Marco help Law with those troubled mares.
> 
>  
> 
> **Thanks for reading.**


	8. Gathering Herbs and Spices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law gathers herbs and spices.

 

* * *

**Chapter 8 - Gathering herbs and spices**

* * *

Law was impressed. The garden was his domain, he had to look after it in order to have a steady supply of ingredients for his medicines, but Marco had kept it up. He selected the leaves and twigs he needed, the herbs and spices, to ground down or extract from, for elixirs and ointments. Marco had little interest in gardening and definitely didn't have a green thumb. Law had expected to find the plants withered but salvageable, but they were thriving. He crushed a basil leaf and inhaled the pungent scent. Even the young tomato vines were tied and trained to climb the wall. He broke off a leaf, scrunched it and brought it to his nose. Another of his favourite scents. Ah geez, Phoenix. Stop doing things that please me.

Marco knew he was dropping by. Law still had a key, and he was more than happy for the younger man to let himself into the house. There was no official break-up. No official division of property or place, yet. Misery followed him in. Law practically tripped over her, she stuck that close. He put on the kettle, and pulled out the leaves for a pot of tea.

Everything was clean. Marco wasn't a slob, but he was usually messier than Law. He could smell the lavender and citrus in the air. Relaxing. Nice to come home to. Had Marco been burning oils? It was an older smell. The aromas sunk into one another. He spied the paper. He'd not read it yet, and took it out to the balcony once the kettle had boiled. It was lovely living with Robin, but he missed this view.

Misery decided Law wasn't going anywhere, and cut back through the house to run around the yard.

While reading about the upcoming match Zoro was having against Mihawk, Law's phone buzzed. He dug it from his pocket with a grunt, and read the message.  _The fridge gave out at work. Have to bring up some perishables to the house. Damn heat. You still there? Is it okay?_

It would seem churlish if he left now. He hadn't finished his tea.

 _Sure_ , he texted back, and didn't move to leave.  

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

_Babe_ , he used to call out when he got home and knew Law was there.  _I'm back_. He knew it was cheesy, but he'd used the pet name for so long, that both men had grown used to it. Law would have stopped him if he didn't like it. There were bigger issues to worry about.

If Law was within hearing distance, he'd welcome him. Marco had to leave those endearments on the tip of his tongue now though. He opened the door, his arms full, and toed off his shoes without saying anything. The door was unlocked, and Misery had come inside from the side garden, so he knew Law was still there. He greeted the dog as she padded through the kitchen to greet him.

He put the perishables on the counter, then spied the back of Law's head through the balcony doors. Ah, one of his favourite resting places. After unpacking everything and putting it away, he ground some beans and switched on the percolator. Law would have heard him. This tension was tough between them. Not antagonistic, but distant.

"Can I join you?" Marco stood at the entrance way of the sliding door as if he was nervously asking him out on a first date.

"Sure," Law said, turning to him. "That'd be nice. Get a cup. I've got a pot of tea."

"Fuck that hippy shit," Marco smiled. "I've turned on the percolator."

Law shrugged, and returned to his paper. "As you wish. You've finished at work?"

"Just need a break. I wanted to catch up with you, if I could."

Law nodded. He smiled inside, but kept his objectivity. He really needed to be objective. Even so, he folded the paper and put his glasses in their case. He'd almost finished, anyway.

Marco came outside and sat adjacent to Law. It had been four months now since he'd gone. Misery sat between them. The sky was clear, clear blue above.

"Heard you're seeing a therapist."

They never were much for small talk.

"Who told you?" Law asked over the rim of his cup.

"Chopper."

So much for doctor-patient confidentiality.

"How 'bout you?"

"Same."

"How'd you find them?"

"Him. My doctor's a man. Chopper."

Law hadn't known. He was pleased. "Why did Tanuki-ya tell you about me?"

"Conversation at the bar."

No-one would be able to tell except those who knew Law well, and Marco did. He saw his colour rise. Controlled panic. Stress.

"Steady," he reassured him. "It was just Chopper and Robin – and she knew, right?"

Law nodded.

"They were just chatting at the bar, and I happened to overhear. Robin was saying you'd be late home, or something like that, because you had to see your shrink."

Law relaxed and shrugged. It wasn't that big of a deal. He was a bit miffed that Robin had gone to the bar, but then, Law was co-owner, and helped out when Marco couldn't. He didn't mind it when she visited when he was working, so he really shouldn't mind at other times.

He'd only really told Trixie the extent of what he thought had happened. He hadn't really been in the here and now, after all. Luffy and the others who'd seen the bruises probably had some uneasy feelings about their appearance, but they didn't know for sure.

"Is it working?" Marco asked.

"Seems to be," Law said. The number of bad dreams had certainly diminished, but that could just be because of a change of circumstance and stimulus.

"Good," Marco said. "You're looking good, Law."

"I feel a lot more normal." Whatever normal counted for in the Trafalgar Law rule book. He was working out, working, reading, writing down his dreams. "Thanks, Marco. How's your therapy?"

Marco raised his hand, indicating Law should wait, and pulled himself from his seat. He went into the house and brought out two cups of coffee. There went sleep for that night, thought Law. It smelt delicious.

"Thanks."

Just how you like it, Marco thought. Or he screwed up half the time, but he thought he'd got it right this time. He settled back into his own chair and picked up his cup.

"Really tough, Law. Therapy. It's hard working through that shit."

"But worth it?"

"Yeah, I feel happier, or more relaxed, about so many things."

"You're virtually catatonic anyway, so that's saying something."

Marco looked at him shyly.  _Shyly_? Law was ragging on him, like they used to. A small smile in his eyes.

Marco smiled back.

"Gotta go, Charlie," Law gathered his keys and herbs, "Sorry I can't finish this." He pointed to the coffee. "I'm at the clinic this afternoon."

Charlie. One of Law's nicknames for him. A play on the great saxophonist. He would have called him bird, and did at times, but another feathered freak dominated too many of his thoughts.

"I'll wash this out. Leave it." Marco said, gesturing to the pot of tea and cup.

"Put the coffee in one of the thermoses."

Law nodded. "Good idea." He picked up the cup.

"It was good to see you, Law."

"Same."


	9. Shattered Kneecaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doctor's in the house.

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Shattered Kneecaps**

* * *

Law's surgery was a surgery in the general practice sense. A place where people came to get their flu shots and their stitches pulled, from their GP. He was a surgeon. With the powers of his _Ope Ope_ , his own skill and experience, he could have worked at one of the top hospitals on the mainland as a very specialised sawbones, but Marco and he had opted for a pretty quiet life on their island, and part of that was just opening his clinic a few days a week and treating those who came shuffling in.

He recalled with a smile, that he definitely didn't have at the time, Cora-san setting fire to all the very specialised hospitals that rejected Law for being a  _white monster_  when his self-appointed guardian had tried to find a cure for the amber lead syndrome that was killing him. Even the medical fraternity were brainwashed into thinking it was contagious. There they were, calling the military in on his sick thirteen-year old arse. Fuckers. He hoped the staff got out. He grew to know worse evil. But it was all relative.

Occasionally someone would need his surgical skills. Like now. It was a journey to the mainland, and their island didn't have a hospital.

"Law! Doc!"

The doors rattled. It was after hours, just. Law was getting set to go home. They knew him then. Sounded distressed. Not drunk, which was also likely in this corner of the town.

"C'mon Doc, open up."

Law stretched from his seat where'd he'd finished up some paperwork. He slipped off his glasses, put them in their case. Grabbed Kikoku and quickly strode to the front of the clinic, unlocked the door.

He didn't know who was paler, Michel, one of the fishermen who supplied the bar, or the daughter he held in his arms. That knee looked nasty.

Law rested the nodachi by the door and looked to Michel.

"Skateboarding."

Fragments of the smashed patella had broken through the skin. An open fracture. Damn it. Not an easy break. The chances of infection were high.

"She wasn't wearing her knee guards."

Luckily she still had her helmet on, Law thought. Still strapped under her chin. She'd been wearing shorts, so he wouldn't have to worry about extracting fabric and thread from the wound.

"Did she only hit her knee? No head injury? Back, arm?"

"Maybe her hand."

Law looked at the grazed skin on her palm.

"She didn't hit her head."

He leant across and undid her helmet, making sure she was fully supported in Michel's arms. She whimpered. He ushered the fisherman inside, put the helmet on the reception counter.

"We need to look at this straight away. We need to clean it up, put it back together, and disinfect. What's your girl's name?"

"May."

He came to Michel's side and squeezed May's non-grazed hand, more so to see her reflexes than anything else. She gripped his fingers tightly. She was quiet now. In shock and pain. Pupils dilated.

"We'll get you through this, May."

His crew were on other islands, running their own bar, not practicing medicine for the time being. His receptionist had gone home as had his nurse. It was her anniversary tonight, so Law thought he could do this with Michel's help. He'd need to use his powers though. It would be a long one, but he could pick out those fragmented bits of bone, release any built-up fluid, clean any wounds, and put the patella back together, as if it were a stable fracture. With his devil's fruit. It would be another matter without it.

"You'll be back on board the board in no time," he told her, ushering them into his consultation room and calling up a blue dome. 

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

He'd missed the last ferry. Michel had to get May home, which was fair, and Law needed to inform him and his wife of aftercare, and what to expect when she woke. He'd had his room up for four hours. He had to determine it actually was a fracture of the patella of course, but it didn't take much to diagnose. He'd used scan to check for any other injuries. She was battered and bruised, but there was nothing as serious as the knee. Then it was the tricky process of extracting the fragments, and putting them back together, excruciating piece by piece. He cleaned up her hand too. Picked out pieces of gravel and dirt, disinfected and bandaged. Michel had to be exhausted. He'd stood by him throughout, helping when he could.

When Law pulled his room down, May was still out from the anaesthesia. He tidied up the clinic, and gathered his few belongings. He was beat.

After Law instructed her parents on correct care, Michel got the doctor into the car to drive him to the dock. Law leant his head against the window and promptly fell asleep. The fisherman pulled up to the terminal just in time to witness the last ferry of the night pull away. He looked at the pirate-medico snoozing away next to him. What to do? He was sure there was a bed at the clinic, but waking in the middle of the night, not sure where you were, after everything Law had done for them, didn't seem right.

He thought of his own home, but even sitting in the car, the doctor kept that sword nearby, though the length of it crossed from the front of the car to the back. Law had warned him once. Maybe it was early morning and he'd been dropping off a catch to the bar, and he'd come across the man just waking from some impromptu shut-eye. He'd told him not to wake him when his nodachi was nearby. He woke in shock sometimes, he'd said, and the person who bore the brunt of that was whoever was standing near.

Michel had lived in the area all his life, and pirates came and went. He knew Law and Marco had less than salubrious reputations, but they had their own kind of honour. Law treated the scum of the earth down here in the back alleys, and he didn't hold it over them. Much. You didn't want to mess with them, but they weren't cruel. There were plenty who were. They knew good people in high places, too. He wasn't sure how. Even so, they were flashy in their own way, the way pirates were – how many doctors were as pierced or tatted up as Law? - but modest in comparison to most.

He didn't quite know what had gone down that night Law had saved him from getting thrashed by that drunk and belligerent redhead, but he knew the doctor hadn't been the same since. He saw him far less at the bar, and he didn't know why he was catching a ferry to a nearby island instead of returning to his house up on the hill.

He didn't want the nodachi in the house, even Law had warned against it, so he drove him to the only man he knew who could probably control it. Law was a co-owner of the bar, after all, even if it seemed he was having troubles with that other guy.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

The pub was running well, as always, though it was a bit of a slow night. That suited Marco okay. No Whitebeards, Strawhats or Hearts made up the customers. All on their own islands, or being no-good-boyos and lasses elsewhere. That meant it was only the locals who would cause trouble if they wanted to, and generally speaking they were a whole lot more well-behaved than his pirate clientele.

Michel walked through the door, a smattering of raindrops on his hair as if he'd walked through a cobweb. One of his favourite fishermen, though it was a little late for him. He had to set out early for the catch of the day.

"Michel. The usual?"

Marco reached behind him to grab the bottle of vodka. Sarah, that night's barkeep, had gone home for the night, and it was just him to look after this raggle-taggle bunch.

"Nah, I gotta go home, Phoenix, but you've gotta help me with your friend."

Marco's head shot up.

Vista? Izou? Had Zoro got himself lost again? He didn't even live on this island. He wouldn't put it past him.

"Law."

A ferocious snarl crossed Marco's face. Who had hurt Law?

Michel put his hand up. "Relax. He's okay." These guys were ridiculously protective of each other, and maybe Marco far more than Law. But then, he'd heard the back bar whispers, so he thought he knew why. The doc had had something to do with the Underground too, and those guys didn't play nice. All the more reason not to have Law stay at his house. He knew the doctor would agree.

"My girl broke her kneecap tonight. Smashed right onto it after falling off her skateboard. It was really nasty. The bone sticking through her skin." Michel shuddered, still pale from the experience. "Law operated. He had that blue thing he does up the whole time. He said it drains his energy, and he fell asleep on me on the way to the ferry. We didn't make it in time for the last one anyway."

Marco relaxed, and continued wiping glasses. Okay, now the situation was possibly only problematic. He heard Michel out.

"He's got to stay somewhere, but he's got his sword with him, and he always told me not to wake him when it was near. You know, early mornings when I've wandered in here and he's waking up from a snooze. I've seen him pull it on someone. I don't want him to accidentally do that to anyone in my house."

"That's fair." It was frightening to have Kikoku at your throat.

"So, he's sleeping in the car with his hands around it, and no way in hell am I waking him. I could wait until he stirs and drop him at the clinic, but it'd be horrible to spend the night there, after all he's done. What kind of aftercare does a surgeon need?" He looked to Marco as if he'd easily have the answer, but it was all beyond him. "And I've got to see my girl."

Michel shook his shirt out a little. He hadn't had a chance to shower since the morning, and his morning started at daybreak. Over the course of a truly stressful day the sweat and grime had built up.

"I know you guys are having some issues, but you're the only one who can wake him, Marco. Or the only one who can deal with that nodachi if he comes out swinging."

The only one at the moment, Marco thought.

"And c'mon. Who knows him better?"

 _Oof_. Marco dropped his head and pushed his hands into the counter. So long as Law didn't think he was getting press-ganged into something. It couldn't be comfortable sitting in the car. He looked over at the distressed local.

"How's your daughter?"

"Law says she'll be fine."

Marco gave him a grim smile. "Then she will be."

He looked around the bar. No-one needed a top-up. He followed Michel outside.

Law was dead to the world, head pushed up against the passenger window. The drizzle falling from the sky barely wet the glass. It was constant though. Using his abilities really did drain him. He could use them for much longer than he had, but Marco imagined all his concentration was needed if the operation was a long one. He'd constantly be using his haki to check on the girl's breathing and reactions too, to calm both her and Michel. He didn't have an experienced assistant. The clinic wasn't really set up for surgery.

Marco sent out his own haki first, to envelop the man. He hadn't done anything like that since their separation. He couldn't presume he had the right to any intimacy with Law after his transgression against him. He pushed that to the back of his mind.

The haki had two purposes, to inform Law's own low-lying haki – that would have kicked in the minute he fell asleep –  that Marco was there, and to let him and it know he wasn't a threat. Hopefully he saw it that way. Honestly, Kikoku without a room wasn't fun. He transformed into Phoenix form. Not entirely. Just a little flicker that he could ramp up if he needed to. Michel stepped back some. He'd seen it before, but it still freaked him out.

Kikoku was only a problem when Law was coming out of a nightmare, or if he felt threatened. The latter, from surprise, might happen now. He knew the Heart pirate sometimes kept the agate in his pocket, but he knew Law wouldn't appreciate him rummaging through his pockets while he was almost supine and knocked out.

His feathers could be soft, not-afire things, and they brushed the door, to provide non-intrusive noise, and to alert Law to his presence, subconsciously. Then he opened the door, ready to stop Law's body from falling to the carpark, or to defend himself from the nodachi's blade.

It was the former. He hoped it was because he'd made Law feel safe. He hated to think how easily someone else might have got to him. The captain kept his grip on Kikoku, but just rolled to his side, away from Marco, and tried to snuggle into the seat.

He smiled. "C'mon, Nana." He lifted him out of the car, and Law didn't protest. He didn't let go of the nodachi, though. That was a little difficult to navigate, over the seats, and out of the car door, but they managed. The men were almost the same height, Law, just that bit taller, but neither was lacking in strength, and his weight didn't affect Marco. Not for a short journey, anyway. He didn't wake.

"Can you get his things, Michel?"

The fisherman nodded, collected them, and kicked the passenger door closed, following the couple into the bar.

Customers barely looked up as the trio crossed the floor. Marco had Law angled away from most of them, anyway. No need for them to know about his current condition. There was a small cot in the supply room. Marco lay Law down, and he immediately rolled on his side away from him. Marco didn't think it was in reaction to him. Probably to the light that spilled in from the bar, the clink of glasses that could be heard in the other room. He rested a hand on his shoulder for a minute, thinking about the tattoo swirling just below.

"Sleep well."  _babe_ , he finished in his head, and walked back out to take Law's things from Michel.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Law slept until closing. Two in the morning. Marco had dimmed all the lights after cleaning the tables, washing down the floor, restocking anything needed. He wandered into the supply room and sat on the edge of Law's bed.

He could leave him here. They both owned the bar, but it wasn't the most secure of places, and he knew he'd worry, especially after Law had expended his powers. He'd slept enough. It should be safe now. His hold on the nodachi was slack.

"Law," he shook his shoulder, "Wake up."

It was almost instant. Marco could tell. The freezing of the body, the quick calculation of where he was. Law's hand arced to summon a room, but he hesitated and let his fingers drop and all tension released.

"Marco?" He turned around, onto his back. Even though the lights were dim, he had a hand over his eyes. "Thirsty," he said.

"Are you an invalid?"

"Feel like one. Did I get hurt?"

Marco shook his head, "No, you're okay." He wanted to run his hand in those bed-tousled locks, but instead walked to the fridge and poured Law a glass of water from the pitchers they kept in there. Law was sitting by the time he returned.

He thanked Marco for the drink, then practically inhaled it. He hadn't drunk anything throughout that operation, nor after.

"I remember now. Why am I here?"

"Michel brought you. You missed the ferry. I contacted Robin, by the way. Had to convince her I haven't kidnapped you."

Law let out a soft laugh. "I'll send a message on the Den-Den 9 later."

"You fell asleep in Michel's car. He was too scared to wake you. You were gripping Kikoku like your life depended on it."

"Wise man. How's May?"

"Michel's daughter?"

Law nodded.

"Don't know, but I'm sure she's fine, otherwise Michel would have parked your sorry arse anywhere, instead of getting you settled in here, and would be at home worrying over her. Or he would have woken you, nodachi or no nodachi, to have you fix her."

"Good." Light and shadows fell across Law's face. He needed more sleep.

"You can stay here tonight, if you want. You can come back to the house. I can drop you off at a hotel or the clinic."

Law was always shaky after depleting his power. "Want to see Misery," he said, holding the edge of the Phoenix's jacket for a second, looking up at him, before putting his empty glass on the filing cabinet next to the bed.


	10. Sketches of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law dreams a little dream.

* * *

**Sketches of Pain**

* * *

They walked up. Of course they did. Well, they always used to, but that was when Law wasn't shuffling along like a ninety-year old great-grandfather.

"Fuck, kid, won't you let me carry you?"

Law didn't honour the question with a response, even if he could barely keep his eyes open. He had a feeling he'd already been a lot physically closer to Marco tonight than they had been over the last few months. He doubted Michel would have touched him if he'd been holding his sword, and someone had carried him into the bar. Still, he was grateful. Frogs called from the fields as they passed. Rain tomorrow, maybe. The drizzle had let up.

"Let me carry Kikoku at least. Your bag."

"Whatever did I do before you came along?"

"Fuck knows."

Law smiled to himself. He was too tired to draw clear boundaries, and no-one knew him better than Marco, except Penguin, perhaps. But in a different way.

"If she lets you," Law conceded. He noted that Marco still had a flicker of blue buzzing over him. He guessed if he fainted they'd fly up, except he wasn't going to faint. It was good for them to walk.

"My feet are killing me," Marco grumbled, as he took Kikoku from Law and felt only a slight hiss of indignation. He slung Law's backpack over his own shoulders.

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Now hurry up."

But Law couldn't. Step by step they'd get there. They lived right at the top of the steepest hill, of course.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

When they finally reached the house, Marco stepped in first to stop Misery from knocking Law over.

"I'm not a twig."

"No, but you are exhausted."

Law  _was_  too exhausted to argue, but not too exhausted to call up a Room, after he'd kicked off his shoes. He teleported himself to the couch, rolled over immediately, so his back was to Marco, and fell asleep. That was twice in one night. Thrice if he included the car. Marco knew it wasn't an insult to him, though maybe Law was avoiding awkward conversations about where he would sleep.

He put Kikoku near the couch, placing her in the manner that Law would have if he'd been carrying her. If he needed her in the night, his instincts would guide him.

Fuck, his feet really were killing him.

The weather wasn't that cool, so he pulled a very light blanket from their linen closet – yes they had one. Where else was Law going to put his spare tea-towels, the functional ones? – and he draped it over his lover. His ex-lover?

Misery, the traitor, curled up in front of the couch and dropped to sleep. She had dragged Law's t-shirt from their room. One of his older shirts, thank God and it was, uncharacteristically, orange. Or it had been, until Misery spent a few months sleeping on it. Marco had been able to wash it once, and the looks she gave him when he returned it to her. Hey! At least he had returned it. He wondered if she even recalled that it used to have her master's scent.

Was it creepy that he wanted to watch Law? Considering all that had transpired between them, probably. He thought about Law's hand reaching out and holding the edge of his jacket in the small supply room. But his words and reactions had seemed reflex, like a chick blindly searching for and then following its mother. No need to read too much into it. Anything between them had to come from Law. He knew that, one hundred percent.

His progress with Carl, his therapist, was getting there. His anger at how anyone could have walked up to Law tonight, while he and Michel were in the bar discussing what to do, was projected, correctly, toward anyone who might attack him, rather than on Law or himself. He also recognised that Law probably didn't react to his presence because he had done his best to make himself familiar to him. The man was alert. Sure, he got caught sometimes, but it was the exception rather than the rule and usually involved seastone. He could take care of himself, Marco reminded himself of that, just as a few jerks out there with missing fingers did on a daily basis.

Marco made decisions to affect his own life and direction, and Law had the right to do the same. He knew this. He'd known it with Ace. He knew it with others. The more ugly emotions he had at times were just that. Emotions. Learned behaviour. Not innate. There was no need to act on them or believe them.

He went to their room and opened the side drawer next to the bed, pulling out his own grounding stone. Law didn't know he had one. He'd only picked it out over the last few weeks, but it was soothing. No wonder Law took his with him most places. He lay on the bed and turned the deep blue piece of lapis lazuli in his hand. He fell asleep with his palm curled around it, marvelling at the silver shot through the blue, like the stars in the dark night sky above.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

The smell of coffee would get Law up.  Scratching at his goatee, he rolled onto his back, but still  slept the sleep of the dead. Marco hadn't got much shut-eye, but he was rested, even if his heart had beat a little faster with a strange kind of hope now that Law was in the house.

Misery padded over to the kitchen, leaving the t-shirt crumpled, lazily wagging her tail.

"Deserter," Marco hissed at her. She licked his knee. He walked to the back door and let her into the yard. She promptly chased a few early birds fossicking for insects in the dewy grass. She was certainly more active than her soul mate.

As he wandered back through the house, coffee cup in hand, he noted the slight consternation in Law's face, and the rapid eye movement behind closed lids.  _No_. But what could Marco do? His role was undecided at the moment, and he'd taken advantage last time they were together and Law had a nightmare. If he touched the man he might just complicate everything, and Law hadn't given permission to help or hold him in that way.  _Hoo boy_ , here we go. The nightmares always took the two of them for a ride.

Law's breath shortened and his fingers twitched by his side. Was he searching for Kikoku? He tensed suddenly. Was he going to fit? That happened once or twice. Then he sat straight up. Eyes open. With a shout. Blanket falling from his body. Hell, that shout scared him, but that was a lot quicker to come out of one of these dreams than normal. Misery barked and came skittering into the house.

Without taking anything else into account, Law used his powers to extract a notebook from the drawer he remembered they kept them in, and a pen from the table. Marco wandered over to both the drawer and the table to look at the shoes he'd chosen to shamble the objects with. Marco's shoes. Were Law's own too good or something?

Law paid nothing but his notebook mind, scribbling furiously for a good hour. Marco didn't have to go down to the bar until later, so that was fine. He brought over some coffee and wasn't acknowledged, fed Misery, and had a shower. As he was towelling his hair dry and walking through the house in his sweatpants, he noticed Law sitting back against the end of the couch, legs scooched over so he could tickle the dog's belly. The blanket was neatly folded on the coffee table, and the orange t-shirt was still scrunched into a foot of the sofa.

Marco rolled his eyes. Law was the first to complain about Misery being on the couch.

"Hey."

"Charlie."

He was tempted to walk over, sit on the armrest, and place a kiss on that crazy, mussed up hair, but remained standing near the kitchen counter.

"How you feeling?"

"Much better. You however, mustn't have got any sleep." It was still early. Law looked a little sheepish. He had made them walk up that hill, no, mountain, Everest, last night - torturously slow. But there was no way he was going to be carried.

Marco shrugged. He'd wanted to see Law and Law knew it.

"What was that about?" Marco indicated his shoe which was scandalously still perched on the table. "Your shoes too good for your magic tricks?"

Law grinned quietly, spoke quietly. "Couldn't think. I couldn't think straight. I just needed pen and paper."

Marco tilted his head in query.

"Imagery Rehearsal Therapy."

"Well look at you."

"I'm a doctor, Phoenix. The mind affects the body, the body affects the mind." And other peoples bodies and minds both had affected Law's own.

Marco shot him a look which told him not to condescend him, no matter how much they were tiptoeing around one another.

"Your nightmare didn't last long, Law."

Law sipped on the coffee, long cold. Sanji had taught him not to waste. The starvation diets that both Doflamingo or the marines had him on at times did the same.

"They're improving. Or they're losing strength." He face was full of weak relief, not only from the hit of caffeine.

"What is it? – the therapy, if you don't mind telling me."

"Sit down," Law said.

"You and Misery got the couch cornered."

"There are other seats."

Okay, he wasn't going to get physically close to Law today. He sat on the armchair nearest the kitchen counter.

"You reimagine your nightmares and write them into more benevolent scenarios, and then imagine that kinder scene at particular points in the day, best when it's not going to stress you out. You imagine less frightening endings to them. That's the rehearsal part."

"How about the beginning and the middle?"

"Yeah, the whole kit and caboodle." The notebook was closed on Law's lap. 

"It's challenging at first, to actually imagine the nightmare, but you're conscious, and in control, so you check in on yourself – you know, a bit like the agate, use something like that to calm yourself if it gets overwhelming – and best case scenario is that when one of those dreams pops up again, its content has changed, or you have the awareness to change it before it consumes everything."

"Is that why your nightmare this morning was so short?"

Law nodded, almost eagerly. "It's the first time, Marco. I mean, none of my nightmares are things you want to remember, but it was the one I have about Flevance when I come across my parents' bodies."

Marco nodded. As horrible as it sounded, it was one of the tamer ones.

"Usually Doflamingo is there wanting to carve them up or something like that, kicking me out of the way if I try to fight him. I'm only ten of course.

"I can't stop him. He does what he wants, and just as he's sawing through my mother's neck – she's dead, right? – she turns, looks at me and calls my name."

The dream was terrifying enough without the addition of Doflamingo and the desecration caused by that fucker. Without the corpse of his almost decapitated mother croaking out her son's name. Her eyes rolled back. Judging him for failing her.

Marco was impressed that Law could even talk about this so calmly. Usually he was hunched over, his body shuddering in revulsion, both at the situation and at himself. His anxiety sky-high, angry at everyone, and just so sad. They both flinched a little, at the images, even so.

"I think you have to change the nightmares bit by bit. Of course it's fucked up that I have to have that memory of my parents at all." Though it was the last time he saw them, and he didn't want to forget what they went through trying to save the people of Flevance from Amber lead. His stomach clenched.

He paused.

"Are you okay?"

Law nodded. He was thankful for the concern. He held his cup as if the cold surface could warm him.

"Anyway, Doflamingo anywhere near my family. Ugh." Misery looked up at him as if she totally understood everything he was trying to say. He ruffled the lighter fur peaking on her barrel chest.

"I reimagined it with Cora-san, and he was there, in my dream. I don't have complete control yet, because it still frightened the shit out of me. But he was looking over them with such tenderness, not aiming to hurt them at all, or rather, violate them, because they're dead of course. Whereas dream-Doflamingo just carves them up, you know, never breaking eye contact with me. That tongue, man," - and here Law did shudder - “licking at any blood that spurted onto his face.”

Law knew that was an impossibility, but Luffy had described Doflamingo doing the exact same thing with Law ’s blood after he publicly shot him in front of all of Dressrosa - the first time. He'd been kind of fond of pumping his body full of bullets. He guessed his id was trying to drive home a point.

"Then Cora told me to wake up. He instructed me to open my eyes."

Law's smile was tentative. The gaze he sent Marco's way.

"So when I woke, I wrote down the newer version and changed it some more so there are fewer intimidating aspects. Bit by bit. I don't think my unconscious will believe me if I change everything at once. I had to get it down before I forgot, even though it's great to forget. So yeah, sorry about the shoes." Law vaguely waved a hand at them.

"Ah, no problem," Marco said, standing, picking them up and taking them back to the recess at their front door. "It might be possible then . . . " he said as he walked back into the room.

"Yeah, it might. It might be possible to knock these nightmares out of the ball park."

Marco felt a strange emotion from Law fill the room. It was bashful and reserved, but there was hope, definitely hope.

 


	11. Hey Bartender!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gossip and scandals. Izou's smack talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events touched lightly in here in conversation refer to events from the early chapters of _[Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29125485)_ , and one toward the end. Not knowing about them shouldn't interfere much with the overall meaning.

 

* * *

**Chapter 11 - Hey bartender!**

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

"You don't want to see me?"

"Christ, Law, I always want to see you."

"I want to write together," he climbed onto the bar stool, and sat at the very edge of the bar, away from the main room, his usual spot when things had been good. He indicated his notebook, forever with him lately, and twisted his pen in his hands. The Beach Shack was actually on the beach. The sound of the water rushing in to land and out again was constant.

"A dream? Rewrite a dream?"

Law nodded.

"Not now." The bar was filling up. The steady chip of the pick in Marco's hand against the huge block of ice in the bucket in front of him interspersed their conversation.

"Of course not. When you knock off. You got plans?"

"I have now," Marco swallowed. Law never looked bad, but he was looking better than usual. Still trim, still fit, maybe he'd got a haircut. Confident, laidback, open. At least with him. Such a far cry from the month after the attack. Kid's attack, not his own.

The pub shut late on Fridays, too. What did that mean? The ferries would have stopped running. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Ah, he missed having him beside him so much. Marco turned his attention to the ice.

A few tourists in prints that would have put Shanks to shame pushed through the doors. Marco placed the pick on the counter, poured a glass of water and placed it in front of the Heart pirate. Law murmured his thanks. Marco left to serve the newcomers. Law opened the medical journal he'd brought with him, and read, jotting notes in the margins.

As the tourists settled into their loud and rambunctious table, Vista and Izou pushed their way through the entrance and sashayed through the bar. The bar was too busy to pay them any mind, which was unusual. Izou, elegant but not constricted in his yukata and geta, clacked across the concrete floor. Vista filled the place – with his hugely broad shoulders, his villain's moustache, his cloak fluttering behind him. They made a beeline to Law, once they spied him. Ah, drama, drama, drama. Where would they have sat if he hadn't been there?

The Heart Captain took off his glasses and warily took in their approach. It wasn't that Law and the Whitebeards didn't get on, it's that he'd replaced Ace, and he had a lot of influence over the first division commander's heart. Even after all these years, that was a loaded situation. Marineford was tough. He got it, but it wasn't like he was the one who punched a fist of magma through Ace's heart. He was gone before Law could save him. That wasn't his fault either. Unlike Doflamingo, he knew he wasn't a freaking god.

Vista took in the tattoos on the hand that held his book shut, his fingers keeping place of where he'd been reading; the scowl on Law's face, though he was trying to keep it neutral. That grazed skin, just above his cheekbone – a permanent scar interrupting his features.

Though Marco didn't talk about it much, he'd been cut up over Law's departure. Vista and Izou didn't know the reasons. They only knew that Marco said it was his fault, and he hadn't deviated from that, so they guessed it was true. He wasn't one to be uselessly sacrificial. Even so, they didn't like to see their friend and such a powerful man in pain, though they did enjoy the free time he had to go drinking with them.

Sure, they'd fought for Luffy, and Law had saved him, and Luffy was Ace's brother, but . . .

They'd known Law across these years, he'd stitched them up, set their bones, but. . .

Luffy and Marco both vouched for him, no animosity between the two men, but . . .

He wasn't known for being straightforward. 'Sneaky' and 'Doctor' went hand in hand.

Vista was a little taller than Doflamingo, so that didn't freak Law out, even though he towered over him. He was an insanely good swordsman too. The surgeon just wasn't looking for any trouble.

"Behave, yoi," Marco called out from the far end of the bar where he was helping Sarah, that night's barkeep, with the drinks' order for the tourists.  _I mean it_ , was the look he shot them. _**I mean it**_ , he growled to the counter. If they fucked up his chances . . .

"Of course." Vista waved an indifferent hand the Phoenix's direction and dragged a chair so he was on one side of the younger man, not really at the bar at all, Izou on the other. Law felt crowded. Vista placed a rose in front of him, and the doctor idly picked it up and sniffed it. Flower swordsman. He eyed Vista's sabres, and didn't relinquish his casual grip on Kikoku. They'd crossed paths, not blades, many times while sailing with Shanks. A little bit of sparring here and there, but only for exercise. No malice in it.

Izou twirled his finger in the air, indicating drinks for the three. Sarah brought them over. Marco was off chatting to . . . who, Zoro? In the corner. Where was freaking Luffy these days? Were they in town? Or had Zoro caught the wrong ferry again?

"Your boyfriend's otherwise engaged."

Law hadn't corrected anyone when they'd used the expression over these past months.

"Or did you two split up?" Izou leaned close, conspiratorially.

"None of your business." Law couldn't be accused of beating around the bush. He relinquished his hold on his book, placing it in his bag, along with his glasses. He'd already packed his notebook away. He didn't want the moisture from the drinks getting onto the paper.

"Marco is always our business," Vista said, drawing back on his beer.

"You haven't shown up for months, and here you are tonight? What gives?" Izou poked his arm, just about at the point where it had been severed. Years ago now.

Ah, what the fuck did they care? Law rubbed both of his hands over his face, DEATH upside down, the adapted hand tattoos a quick flash of black in the Whitebeard pirates' vision.

"We talk. We just don't do it at the bar." Law said from behind his hands, and recalled why they didn't talk at the bar. He dropped his hands and scoped the counter. He hadn't taken a drink yet, though his water glass was empty.

"What'd he do to upset you, pretty boy?" Vista was a bit too close, and with the way he dressed, who was he to be talking about looks? Law pulled away from him, almost baring his teeth.

"Plenty," he said, using shambles to bring his hat to him. Old habits die hard. They usually kept it behind the bar to protect it from beer spills.

"I'm figuring you're paying for that geisha-ya," he said to Izou, drinking a quarter of his beer so that he wasn't too deliberately insulting.

Izou nodded behind his drink. Law stood, put his bag over his shoulder, pulled his hat so it shaded his face further.

The Heart Pirate and that ridiculous fluffy thing thought Vista. Law thought the same about the top hat that didn't leave the tall man's crown.

"Enjoy your evening, gentlemen." He took Kikoku.

Vista's hand firmly gripped his arm before he could leave. Law had his free hand ready to form a Room. "You've been good for him Law, but we don't like seeing his feelings toyed with."

"Then, if you let me go, you won't have to any longer," he snapped. Vista released him, and Law slipped from the hut, giving Sarah an apologetic glance. He'd text Marco later.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Well, that hadn't been his best idea. He walked Misery through the park, nodachi cradled in his arm. What had he been hoping to achieve? Misery was off the leash, and she sniffed along the undergrowth and raced off to converse with other dogs.

He'd been absent. No wonder Marco's friends were protective of him. Either Law, Marco, or the both together were behind the counter at some time during the week. Not so over the last few months. The together part at least. Law helped out on occasion, but not with the Phoenix. Marco said he'd told them nothing, that he took responsibility. Law believed him.

They talked. They weren't completely cut off. They'd just not done it in the bar, for all the world to see. It was some serious shit they were going through, and it wasn't any of Vista's beeswax.

The days were lengthening, so it had been bright when Law arrived at their home, the slope leading to the house less of a mountain and more of a hill this time. He'd sat on the bench outside, and sent off a text to Robin.  _He_   _wasn't sure he'd make it back that nigh_ t. What did that mean? What was he doing? He wanted to reshape this dream, with Marco. Was that wise?

They kept a leash outside, so Law could easily take Misery to the park. He'd text Marco from there.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Marco glanced at his Den-Den 9.  _Don't drink too much_ , Law had texted. Marco frowned. Not at his handwriting. The Den-Den 9 kept the personality, but made sure it was legible. Thank god for technology.

Were they going to have a D & M? Well, about freaking time.  _Of course it_   _was okay_  he'd texted to Law only a few minutes before that in response to a text asking if he could stay at the house.

 _Your wish is my command_ , he typed in answer to the request about drinking. What was up?

Still frowning, he wandered over to Vista and Izou.

"If you screwed up my chances . . ." he said, looking up from the phone.

"Then the entitled prick's not worth it." Izou ran his finger in a puddle of beer.

"Since when did you talk about him that way?" Marco slipped the phone into his pocket.

"Since he removed himself from your life, Phoenix. Who does he think he is, just waltzing back in?"

He remained calm, took their empty glasses, and passed them a cloth to wipe the counter in front of them. That's what it was, where the attitude sprung from.

"It's not like that. We've been seeing each other once or twice a week, sometimes we talk more."

"Just not in the bar?"

"Yeah. It's between us. Don't fuck it up for me."

Vista flicked his hat back. "Just so long as he knows what he's got, what he might be throwing away."

"He's lucky, privileged to have your attention, Marco."

Marco tensed.

"And he should know it," Izou added.

Marco leant against the bench behind him, arms folded. "It's not like that. You know Law doesn't often act on a whim. I crossed some major boundaries with him, and we're negotiating our way through that. He's well in his rights to just pack up, clear out, and leave me for good."

Izou laughed, looking down at the counter, and not at the serious face of the first division commander. "He's an ex-whore, Marco. He doesn't have the right to define anything, let alone boundaries."

Ah fuck, thought Vista.

"I'm a geisha. You're a commander We all have our roles to play."

"And if you had to battle anyone out there we'd all have your back, even though you're more than capable . . . Your past or your profession doesn't stop us from respecting and supporting you, same as with Law."

Izou bristled. "There's a world of difference between coming from the pleasure quarters and actually being a pleasure slave. I'm a commander too, damn it!"

What would that quack know about being an artisan? Profession? Law was a scrubber.

"You're both trained," Marco snapped, and knew it was the wrong thing to say. For Law and Izou. "He's a doctor and a captain, Izou, just as you're a commander. He  _wasn't_  treated with respect when he was a slave, and he deserves to be. I don't want to be the one to keep him in that role. I'm not with him for that reason."

"Moot point, right? You're not with him at all." Izou had finished off Law's beer on top of two of his own. He wasn't the strongest of drinkers, and his cheeks flushed red.

Marco stepped closer to where Izou and Vista were seated, his hip jutting against the small ledge on his side where they placed extra glasses. Izou's words were well aimed.

"All I'm saying is you can take boy out of the chains, but can you take the chains off the boy? Look at the grooves on his wrists, Marco. We know his back is fucked up, and what are those tattoos hiding? That brand – I don't care if he gouged it from his skin – is nothing but gossip, gossip, gossip, gossip  _and_  trouble.

Izou pinched his lips together.

"There's not one part of his skin that isn't marked. That hasn't had someone else's fingers all over it,  _everyone_  else's fingers. That graze on his face. How'd he get that? Being a slave is imprinted in his pathways and on his body, no matter how much he might pretend to be something else."

He knew. Izou knew better than anyone else. He'd worked with the lowliest to the highest, and Izou had been the goddamn crème de la crème. Doflamingo. That garish man. Law had been nothing more than cheap arm candy, equipped with some very sought after talents.

Vista heard Marco's slow exhalation, a warning, a tamping down of his temper. He shot a glance at Izou, but the slighter man didn't notice.

"He should be grateful that you want to touch him at all, and I bet you nine times out of ten he knows it."

"Izou . . ."

Izou help up a hand. He wasn't finished yet. How dare he be compared to a common prostitute. He bet Law couldn't tell a koto apart from a shamisen, let alone play one. He could bet any shakuhachis he'd parted his lips to blow weren't the musical variety.

"Have you guys only survived so long because Law knows just what he needs to do to please you? As he should. Don't let him get above his station, power or no power. I don't care how smart he's meant to be. He wouldn't have got where he did if he hadn't been Luffy's spoiled bitch. I've heard the rumours about Akainu and Kizaru. How could he? After Oyaji, how could he?"

"Izou . . ."

Jesus, not one was by choice. Well, Luffy, but. . . . No-one would want to live the life Law had. Marco shook his head.

"He's got you running after him like a dog, when he should be thankful to lick your shoes. Any one of us could have helped you get over Ace, but you choose Strawhat's discard?"

Marco's eyes were dangerously flat, his countenance too relaxed, Vista knew when he was coiled to strike.

The tall man put a hand on Izou's arm. "Enough, Izou. You're a commander. There are plenty of ex-slaves in our crews, and none of them are doctors. You're wrong to judge him this way."

Izou started a new drink, his face grimacing at the swordsman's words. None of them were whores, either. He kept the thought to himself.

Sarah, sensing the tension, hovered to Marco's right in case she was needed, before being called away by a customer on the other side of the shack.

How many times had Law patched up Izou or Vista or any one of Shanks or Whitebeard's men as they sailed together in loose affiliation? Teleported them out of trouble when the fighting got too intense?

Vista cast a look of apology Marco's way. Picked up the rose that Law had left behind, and also sniffed it, hoping to find fragrance. It had wilted.

"Sorry, dude. We just started too early. Empty stomach."

Empty brain. Empty, hurtful words. Marco nodded, released his curled up fist. Law's freaking nightmares after Akainu and Kizaru had boarded Shanks' ship that one time. As if anyone would willingly submit to Kizaru's light searing their skin. To any of it.

He turned away from his friends, and faced the wider bar.

"All drinks on the ignorant arsehole in the corner," he shouted, waving his arm in Izou's direction so not a soul would be mistaken about who he was referring to.

Would Carl be pleased with him, or should he just fight the sixteenth division commander when he was less drunk? Whitebeard wouldn't want him to encourage discontent among the men. And Whitebeard's memory still counted. A lot.

The resounding cheer from the other patrons let him know he was heard. He turned back to his comrades, leant over the counter and gripped Izou's shoulder, squeezed, a little phoenix flame burning through the touch, black eyes calm, calm, calm, Izou's pursed rosebud lips now shut. He then walked away. Let Sarah deal with them for the rest of the night.


	12. Whatever gets you through the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law and Marco work together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warnings** for past sexual assault from the  **4th x oOOo break** (the last one). That's an important section though. So if you can pick up from  _Marco dropped his finger, sighed_  (maybe use a CTRL+F or another search function), you should be all right. This chapter contains mature content, language.

**A/N:**   **Trigger**  warnings for past sexual assault from the  **4th**  x  **oOOo**  break (the last one). That's an important section though. So if you can pick up from  _Marco dropped his finger, sighed_  (maybe use a CTRL+F or another search function), you should be all right. This chapter contains mature content, language.

* * *

**Chapter 12  – Whatever gets you through the night**

* * *

Maybe Law had thought that a Friday or Saturday night at the bar would be quiet, and there would be an hour or two at about eleven pm where the Phoenix and he could just share a drink and go through the ideas he had. Then he'd sleep in the clinic, or in the back room of the bar. Yeah. He hadn't been out in too long, hadn't thought that one through.

Monday or Tuesday perhaps that was possible. Why had he chosen Friday? True, the clinic was open in the latter part of the week, so it was practical, but maybe he was still trying to establish himself as a player. But why? As far as he knew, he hadn't lost Marco's attention. And now there was the loaded situation of being in their house.

Marco would be tired. If he'd drunk, he might be drunk. If they worked on this tonight, it could mean that all decisions were made from emotion, and Law knew that was a dangerous place to decide anything from. He'd almost made up his mind. Almost.

It was nice to be home though. His easel was set up where it had been just under half a year before. The work he'd dabbed at with an unsteady hand while waiting for Marco to come home after the assault. Not sure, at the time, how he'd act, how he'd feel – how he should act, how he should feel. Like now, but not like then.

Law checked in with himself, with the grounding stone. It was dark outside, as it had been when he'd fled home from Kid's attack, and he was again approaching the painting as a kind of stress relief, but  _not_  because his life and body had just got ripped in two. Though the reason for his absence drew strong fucking parallels.

He evened his breath. The agate was soothing. He was the Surgeon of Death. What was he scared of? He returned to the kitchen and opened a beer, brought it back to the easel, and started mixing the paints. Seeing the birdcage go up above him while Doflamingo had him tied to that Heart chair sprung to mind for a second, the longterm warlord knowing exactly what he was doing. Calling out Law's name. Singling him out. Drawing his attention to it. That man's mind games.

No problem with healthy fear. But better that he occupied the time that twisted his mind with hypotheticals with something more productive, like the picture in front of him. He'd tired Misery out, and she slept by the couch. He wondered if he'd be able to pry that grotty t-shirt from under her and wash it at some stage, or if it was past redemption.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Law jumped, nodachi in hand.

"You're getting rusty, old man."

He truly was. Misery was. But no. Just him. There she was, sniffing the outside scents on Marco's cut-offs before growing tired of the situation and returning to her nest. Flea-ridden, no doubt. Law had no qualms in gifting that t-shirt to her.

"Your haki's improved," Law said to Marco, sheathed his nodachi, and began packing up his paints. Again, reminiscent of that night.

Marco hadn't been particularly quiet coming into the house, so he wondered what had stopped Law from sensing him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Law felt the agate.

"Maybe you're becoming a little too normal, Law."

"Maybe," Law said, "I take that as a compliment."

He had fought hard for a reason, not just for the thrill and vengeance of it, though he couldn't deny the rush of adrenaline a battle brought, his powers in full swing. Mostly he had wanted an ordinary life, or one free from the perceptions of slavery at least. A recognised life. He had wanted to breathe. To breathe for those who couldn't, even if he gave up his life for them in the process, in the way they had for him. Heh. Not much sense in that. Maybe there were no more reasons to fight. The air circulated pretty freely around him nowadays.

* * *

oOOo

* * *

Marco started to unpack the things he'd brought up from the bar. He placed a few extra beers in the fridge. Put leftovers the cook had given him next to them. Law wandered into the kitchen after tidying the art space.

"How're feeling? Too tired?"

It was two in the morning after a busy shift. Fuck yeah, he was tired.

"What's this about, Law?"

"Thought you might like to help me." The younger man took the bag Marco had used, folded it, and placed it in the recycle bin.

"Are you going to be triggered?"

Law shrugged. Nodded his head. "Maybe. I hope not."

If we do this thing together.

"You're a pain in the arse, you know that?"

* * *

oOOo

* * *

It was one of the worst nightmares. Maybe only Penguin knew the full details of what inspired it, or maybe he hadn't even admitted that to himself. Three men and Law himself knew the nightmare. Luffy and Marco had endured it along with him a number of times on separate occasions.

"We time," Law said, "As I write, or have the ideas. If I'm getting stressed, we go through breathing exercises, I come back to the present."

"And I'm doing this for you because?"

"You said they were the cause, Marco." The Phoenix had said they needed help with Law's nightmares. They were  _his_  words. "You said they wear us down. That they impair your judgement." He looked up at him.

They sat in the lounge near the kitchen. Law on the couch, Marco on its arm.

"I was the cause, Law. I let my anger rule me, my desire. I took advantage."

Law looked at him solidly, trying to read him. Marco's face, seemingly free of tension, could hide all manner of things, though he was usually pretty straightforward.  _This_  was a new development. It was key to almost everything. Sure, Marco said he took responsibility in conversation with friends, but he hadn't said it so directly to Law before. Their conversations were still laced with him quibbling about matters of consent, or absent of the topic altogether. Both of them skirted around it.

"I won't be weak like that if we can – if I can – defeat the nightmares."

"You shouldn't have to defend yourself from me."

Law didn't drop his gaze. Damn right was the stare. "I don't want them to control my life so much. To impact upon yours."

.

.

"You still want to be with me?" Marco asked, returning from the kitchen with two glasses of water. He sat on his perch on the armrest.

It had taken many sessions with Carl for Marco to fully admit that he'd assaulted his lover. Marco wasn't that kind of person. No-one was ever that kind of person, were they? He remembered his father's big hands, always hitting, never holding. It was never his fault.

"Yeah," said Law. "But if it happens again -," it  _had_  to be stated clearly, "- I'm gone. I hate feeling . . .". That it might, that he might be wrong.

Marco nodded. He leant in to feel one of Law's earrings, but the doctor pulled his head away.

"Let's get this nightmare done. Then sleep. Then we need to talk tomorrow, it'll be too late tonight."

"Then sleep after we talk tomorrow?"

Law tilted his head. Who knew? "Talk first." It was necessary.

"Okay, where do you want me to sit?"

Law moved to the middle of the couch, and tapped the seat next to him. Was that too confusing?

"Let's start."

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

"The noises are pretty bad."

"You're getting mouthfucked?"

"Yeah. One just replaced the other. On and on."

Law swallowed, or had trouble swallowing. He looked away from Marco. He could feel it, them, gripping his hair, rigid, silky, slimy, musty, skin plunging, filling his buccal pouches. His left hand gripped his forearm, covering his tattoo. The right hand held the pen. Marco tapped his arm.

"Stay with us, Law. Breathe."

And the Heart pirate let out an exhalation and lightly held Marco's wrist in thanks, circling the narrow bones with thumb and ring finger, as he quickly recognised the wooden floor below his feet as belonging to their house. He dropped his hold.

"The marines? You chained?"

"Just like how it was in real life." The kairoseki wound around him. Him on his knees. "Doflamingo's cackling in the corner from his cell. Vergo yelling out advice."

Law gripped the pen.  _Fuck that bitch harder_. Damn Vergo to hell. And they listened to him, sped up, were more brutal.

"You sure you want to remember?"

Law looked across. He wasn't sure at all.

Marco took his hand, pen and all, he could tell Law was close to flashback. Law curled his fingers into the grip.

"I want to change it." His voice was low. Tired.

"Well, what about we remove the chains?"

Marco's hand was steady, as it had been on the Red Force when Shanks opened a can of worms on this very memory, after Doflamingo and Vergo had paid their one and only surprise visit to the ship. Before their demise, after their pardon.

"Oh, that's good." Law blinked a few times, and the slight tremors Marco had felt subsided. Law removed his hand with a grateful look, clicked his pen and started writing.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Dreams work on their own kind of logic. The sounds, the touch, my sounds, theirs, taste, are all pervading in that dream. All the five fucking senses." Law paused mid-scrawl.

"Like you know you can hear your own breath so loudly when you're swimming, or in our cases, when we used to be able to swim, it's the same when you've got a cock or a dozen slammed into your mouth. If you hum, you improve your chances of clearing your nasal cavities and you breathe more easily."

And the marines fucking got off on it, thought he was doing it for them. S _how us what you're trained for, whore._

Law's voice was almost friendly and he turned and smiled at Marco brightly, marvelling at the absurdity of it all, but the Phoenix saw the brittleness in his eyes. Law wiped the back of the hand holding the pen over his mouth, then leant over and dry retched. Marco rubbed his back.

"Want to stop?"

Law tried to breathe deeply, doubled over, staring out at the feature wall he'd only just started adorning with tea towels before he'd left. Marco's touch, so grounding. An eerie whine escaped from behind his teeth, the bottom row pushed up into his lip.

His hands fisted and unfisted, and then he coughed. Just one, and then another and then they wouldn't stop, and he couldn't draw a breath, his head dipping between his knees. Marco helped him sit up, and made him drink some water. The first few sips worsened the aggravation, and he had to hold Law's hand on the glass, but as some liquid found its way down the correct channels the constriction of his throat and chest loosened, his breathing regulated.

This was a huge assault for Law to tackle. It triggered him no end. Had it been ten years? Maybe. Maybe less. Maybe more. At times it felt as if no time had passed. During his second captivity – those lost years from twenty-six to twenty-eight – the second night of being held by the marines after they'd swooped on the Don Quixote compound was a blur. The marines, Doflamingo and Vergo, and back to the marines, and on and on, they had just passed him between them. Something to be sampled, destroyed. Much of what happened was buried, only raising its vicious head in these dreams.

Then being taken the next day by Akainu and Kizaru. He'd been slated for execution some time in the near future, and no-one was keen on him shuffling off this mortal coil with a shred of dignity in place, with his sanity intact.

Law picked up his pen again, though not with a steady hand. "Let's do this."

Marco leant his elbow on Law's shoulder as he wrote and it remained. He pulled his feet up. They had the timer set. If Law couldn't pull through this, they'd stop.

"Does the dream start with them taking you from your cell, or something?"

"It's all dark, and there are just the sounds, and the feel of them pushing into my mouth. Laughing. Always laughing. Fingers in my hair. That sound before they climax." The grunt of a job well done,  _of an obedient bitch that did exactly what he was told to_. Satisfaction in subjugation. "Feeling how utterly worthless I am."

Marco stroked Law's cheek. He turned to look at him. Oh that felt nice. He almost moved closer into the cup of the firebird's palm. He breathed deeply and steeled himself. "Not now, Marco. Not over trauma. Let's talk tomorrow."

Marco dropped his finger, sighed, but didn't lose his proximity to Law. Law didn't make him. The doctor was right. His eyes were still too bright. Wide with surprise but not anger at him. Laced with anxiety. Trying not to slip into the pain of the past. It was too easy to trauma-bond. To  _not_  make decisions from positions of logic.

Empathy was fine, and needed, but decisions based solely on Marco wanting to erase all of Law's memories, to soothe the pain that must serrate his guts, would only end in resentment, ultimately. It only treated the symptoms.

"Holding hands is okay?"

"I needed it for the moment. Sorry Marco."

And my needs?, the Whitebeard commander wondered.

"I shouldn't have asked. It's heavy. But no-one else really knows."

"Your therapist?"

"I can't tell her everything."

"You don't tell me everything."

"I don't tell anyone everything." Including his own self.

"Penguin?"

"Knows more than most. He saw a lot of it and we were young together. It's different."

Law sought his hand and Marco gladly gave it.

"Is this okay?" Law asking now. Marco squeezed his hand in response. They were ridiculously courteous of each other while trying to sort their relationship out. Maybe they should just flare up their haki again and take it outside.

"Should we stop?"

Marco thought on it. Probably they should both go and see Carl or Trixie together. Maybe they could do that.

He leant back on the couch. Law had dropped his hand when he picked up his pen, yet again. Why couldn't he be left-handed? Then again, he was pretty dextrous with both. He handled that sword pretty well.

"Nah. Let's nail this. Get these demons out of your head. How much of the story do we have to change?"

"I've tried changing the whole thing, and it didn't work. It doesn't work if I'm the one being a sadistic bastard either. But no chains is good."

"Just call up your Room, and you're out of there, baby. Or you could slice up a few heads and hearts with Kikoku."

"Zoro had her. And Doflamingo had chipped me. The chains were just overkill."

Marco ran his finger over that bit of ear which still bore the scar of the chip's removal. Law looked over with a smile, but still hesitant.

"No chains, and you just happened to be wearing an ear clip instead of a seastone chip, you hipster you."

"Genius."

"I'm really not, Law, and you know it. At least in this case."

"You know what the dreams are like, Marco. They just overwhelm everything, even on waking. I can't think logically."

He leant over and planted a kiss on Law's head and he felt Law resist the urge to turn to him and return it. Marco understood. He stood up. Law was disappointed and relieved to feel his absence beside him.

"Sorry, Marco."

Marco shook his head.

"No need. I understand. What happens next?"

"Like you said. I summon up a motherfucking Room. I don't have my nodachi, so I can't take them out, plus, I just want to get away and not waste my energy. Though maybe I could do something to shut Doflamingo and Vergo up . . . next time. They were chained. What if the marines just decided to mouthfuck them?"

Law paused for a minute, tapping the pen on his teeth like Trixie.

"Then again, getting away is most important. I have to replay this dream, so simple is best. Guess that mofo lives to haunt my subconscious another day."

Marco kicked back in the arm chair opposite Law. "Go on. What happens after that?"

"The Polar Tang has been patrolling the waters since the crew heard of my capture. My submarine has everything in its exact place, so I shamble a loaf of bread," – Law shuddered and smiled, Marco laughed – "from the kitchen to replace me, and hope I land on a bench or something and not the stove."

"It's your dream."

"Hence the bread. But I have to make it somewhat realistic."

"Is it realistic that there's bread on your sub?"

Law frowned slightly. "The crew like it. I'm only depriving them of one loaf."

Vista and Izou didn't see this side of the surgeon. They could, if they gave him a chance. Marco's grin spread at the picture Law painted of him somehow having a less than dignified landing on the submarine, and switching with his nemesis, bread. Of all the things the sub must carry. Even in this hellish dream world, he could poke fun at himself.

How could he have endangered everything they had? Because he couldn't control his anger? His urges? Marco's arms were wide on the couch, and he slouched into its folds. Seemingly relaxed, but following Law's every movement and response.

And Law was the one making the effort for them? No, he couldn't presume that. Law was making the effort for himself, first and foremost. Though he had asked for his help. Any flow-on side benefits  _would_  strengthen them if they ended up together again.

So he watched and waited and worked on his own issues. If the two of them were over, so be it. He just hoped they could keep up this connection, this camaraderie, this desire to be in each other's space. But if one of them found another . . . ? He shook himself out of it.

"That's all of it then?"

"Simple, so that the images take. Now I visualise all that a number of times during the day over the next few weeks, and if that nightmare strikes again, the series of events change to the ones I imagined,  _or_  I'm aware enough to know I'm asleep, and work to change the dream within the dream,  _or_  I force myself awake."

"Good. Write it down. Don't forget colours."

"Really?"

"Put in those colours you like best. The oranges of the agate, blue, yellow, red. Black if you must."

Marco didn't know it was one of Cora's colours.

"Bepo's smile. Solid signposts"

"It ends with Bepo's hug?" Law asked him hopefully.

"You're writing it, Nana. It's a hell of a lot better than the alternative."

And so it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters referenced in this from [_Repossession_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29125485) are the beginning five and others throughout the fic, particularly [chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29126682) and [chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29126778). Warnings on all of those chapters. **Please** read the author's notes.  
> 


	13. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision is made.

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Conversations**

* * *

"My liege."

The Heart pirate crawled out from the cover that enveloped him on the couch. He took the coffee Marco had made with thanks.

"What time is it?"

"Eleven."

"I've been sleeping all that time?" Even at Robin's he didn't sleep so well.

"Like a baby. But considering when we turned in, you really haven't been snoozing for that long."

You neither, thought Law, folding the blanket, scrubbing his belly under his t-shirt.

"I gotta get to work later, Law. Any talking should be done in the next hour or so."

Law nodded. "Let me have a shower, then a walk and talk in the park?"

"Only if it brings you back into my arms."

Grey eyes half opened, Law let that one hang.

"Thanks for last night. It'll help a lot." He jutted his chin toward the notebook on the table. Nutting out a solution to that dream had been hard work but, he hoped, well worth it.

Marco dipped his head.

The doctor gathered his things and went to the bathroom. His drink would be just right on his return.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Law's tongue was thick against the roof of his mouth. Anything he said would sound forced, prissy, demanding. But it was a stipulation. Without it, he wasn't coming back.

It was nice to walk the paths of the park, rather than to sit stiffly at either end of a bench. Misery thought it was a great development anyway. The litter of leaves in the undergrowth wafted with the scent of eucalyptus as she scattered them.

Law had one hand on his nodachi, and the other shoved into his pocket. Marco had been trying to convince him to switch to a shorter katana for years. That sword was something to consider every time he wanted to get physically closer.

Marco walked easily by Law's side, closer than just friends. Law took a breath, and the Whitebeard looked over. Not only was his partner lightly flushed, but his expression was dark. Fuck, what was it? Law's words were a low grumble, constricted but pointed.

"No more rough play, Marco. No safe words, warning lights, none of that. We just don't do it. If I'm to come back."

This could just be a pleasant walk in the park, but conversations that stalled and faltered, and got their point across in terse exchanges and a stumbling, stuttering rush of words, had to be had.

They never played rough that often anyway, but early in their relationship Law had said it was a way that sometimes worked for him. The repercussions of his second captivity took a long time to iron out, and intimacy led to meltdown on too many occasions. For the longest time it seemed the only way anyone was getting any was if it was rough, hurried and by surprise.

Well, in truth, that way always worked for him. He  _was_  trained for it, and it was Doflamingo's favoured way to use him and to let others use him, but he just felt so debased afterwards, so utterly empty, even if he came, and he always did. It was fucking  _required_  of him. Another way of steeping him in humiliation while with the Don Quixote family.

However, Marco wasn't his master, and they'd set up rules so respect existed during the act and in the after-effect. When things were stable in their relationship it was usually fine. A once a month, once every six-weeks exploration of the more carnal side of their carnal relations. It was the only time they didn't face one another when Marco topped.

Another condition Law had put in place way back when,  _was_  facing one another the majority of the time, when he wasn't the leading partner. It was important for him, having been pushed up against too many hard surfaces, face first, in his lifetime. Marco's scars weren't born from the same spring, so any hangups in the bedroom for him were few and far between. Not so with Law.

"Never?" Marco leant on Law's shoulder for a second and shook loose a few bits of stone from his sandal's insole, the younger man stopping for him as he hopped about.

"I can't say never." Law steadied Marco's elbow to stop him from falling back, and the two men set off along the path again once he'd replaced his shoe. "But not for now, and probably not for some time. If that's not part of our sex life, how will it affect you?"

He felt both clinical and almost ashamed talking about something that should be hot and exciting between them. He felt as if he had an affliction, a disease, something so terribly wrong with him. He really was fucked up. Trixie said it was fine to know what you wanted and not. That with their backgrounds they had to be wary of anything that made them feel abused.

Marco already knew the killer surgeon was more likely to pull back from anything if he felt threatened. Or he could flick a switch, and Marco would have the most mind-blowing experience possible, but Law sometimes wasn't there in those cases. It was a role he played and had learned to play well. Their sex life wasn't predictable, but it was an area that required constant sifting and consideration. Law wished he wasn't so difficult, but who had ever guided him?

Marco moved to put his arm around the other man as they strolled around the park. He let him. Law had been a different man when he was twenty-six, apparently. A shell of that when the Strawhats rescued him at twenty-eight. He was in his early thirties when Marco and he began going out and even though being close and affectionate was something they both sought from the other, and grew into, Law was easily spooked if actions triggered memories of Doflamingo and others.

And fuck, they'd dominated his life for so long, that there were pretty good odds that someone too close in his space, on top of him, breathing in his face, restraining him in any way, could set off collapse, riddle him with the urge to escape – fight or flight. Even if it was to become emotionally comatose.

"It's never been a big part of it."

"No. But you might like for it to be."

"No."

Law felt Marco's grip tighten on his arm. Not uncomfortable, but his words were obviously going to be important. He knew the Phoenix would let him go if Law wanted him to.

"I was entitled and felt put out. I twisted our agreement to suit my own needs. Or rather, my own  _desire_ , not needs. I respect you Law. I  _need_  our companionship. I don't  _need_  rough sex, even if it's fun sometimes."

He pressed his lips into Law's hair. "Is this okay?" He felt Law nod.

Luckily Misery didn't need them when she was free of the leash. She looked over her shoulder to see they were still following, but the scents and scratches left behind by her fellow canines were a whole lot more interesting.

"It's not fun for you, babe. Not that often. There are just too many ghosts to risk it."

"Too many ghosts for you?"

Marco shook his head.

Law stared ahead. He was about to call out to Misery, but she double-backed and stopped to determine, once again, just who had been visiting that patch of grass. He kept pace with Marco. He wanted to hook a hand in a belt loop to make walking easier, to bring them closer, but he couldn't give too much away not yet. Fuck, everything was still so cut up inside. Even with the passing of these months.

" _I_  screwed it up. Your conditions are fair. You're right, Law. You'd be in your rights to get Smoker onto me. Shanks, Benn. They would do what you asked. To give me the same punishment I wish you'd given Kid."

He could feel how tense Law was under his touch. How conflicted. "Thank you for giving me a chance."

 _Who knows me better, Marco?_  Law thought.  _Don't make me regret it_ , he prayed. But then he relaxed. He put his spare hand around the wrist of the hand holding Kikoku. No seastone cuff. No fucking seastone He'd be out of there. If anything similar happened. No questions asked. He'd cut Marco up first though, no Room in place. He thought of Zoro, the one-eyed swordsman, telling him he let the enemy win if they were always living in his heart.

Marco's lips had sent a buzz through him. He had to keep things in perspective.

"You could stop for Ace."

"I know." Marco kept close.

"You need to do the same for me. I'm improving, but I'm not there yet. I need to trust you, Marco." Law was stiff in the Phoenix's arms now. He felt himself grow rigid. He couldn't think of any of the skills he had to make himself relax.

It still stung. What was so fundamentally wrong with him that Marco had not been able to extend the same control over his urges toward him as he had with Ace? The same courtesy? The same respect? Was it because of who he was? Where he came from? Because he was Law, and not Fire Fist? Could he ever escape what Doflamingo had patterned him with? Fuck, this was so hard.

He turned away, head down, out of Marco's hold.

"I won't hurt you again, Law."  _I promise_ , Marco said to himself, touching the younger man's arm.

Said out loud, promises wouldn't work for either men. Joker's promises just guaranteed pain. Sister's promises of the mercy of men finally proved true, but compassion seemed to be the exception rather than the rule.

They'd stopped walking, stood together in a clearing. Ah, Marco knew he'd hurt Law so badly. He knew he'd see those eyes burning not just with anger, but incomprehension at both Marco and himself.

"I promise, Nana." Then again, maybe it did need to be said. Marco's voice was low and calm, though he wasn't sure where they'd end up, his insides a mess. "I want you to sleep by my side and to feel as safe as we used to, like we're used to, and as safe as Ace always felt and was. I want to be that man again, who helps you find a way out of that vat of poison, not the one who pushes you deeper into it. I'm sorry, Law. I can't say it enough."

He stood opposite Law. Closer than an arm's reach. Words said now carried weight.

He couldn't ask for forgiveness. He knew that Law didn't give it to anyone. He'd retort that it was up to him to forgive himself, and so it was if he was to move on. Law would divest from the pain, though, when he could see clearly enough.

The Heart captain only looked at Marco's face for a second. He thought he was ready, but was he? He felt his own wrist again. No fucking seastone. He conjured up a room to prove a point to himself, failing to see the panic cross Marco's face, and then let it drop. He then relaxed, seeing Law still in front of him. Law shambled a few thousand leaves with the grass below them, surprising the dog and birds in the process. He unsheathed Kikoku and bisected the trunks of a few trees and reassembled them so the roots were pointing skywards. He'd fix it later. All it took was a flick of his wrist.

He was tempted to chop up Misery, but he knew she wouldn't like it, and if he did it to Marco, it would just be vindictive. A woman with a crazy beehive and a softly trotting Borzoi caught his vision. He could switch their heart and souls, but chose not to. He reassembled the trees and transported himself to a few different places in the blink of an eye before returning to Marco's side, only a small change in the air around them indicating the journey.

He walked into Marco's space and pushed aside the purple jacket he was so fond of, and Marco could tell he wasn't going in for an embrace. Law placed a hand squarely over the skin covering the beating organ he could feel below and stared directly at him. It had been some time since he'd removed a heart.

The Phoenix had his haki and powers on standby, just in case. But mostly he felt he just had to wait this out. Law's lips curved slightly feeling the pulse quicken under his touch. He dropped his hand.

He had to remember who he was. Who he knew he was. Not the definitions of others. He had to visualise his powers into those dreams, in the way they had last night. He returned Kikoku to her scabbard. She hummed happily, greedily, wanting something more to happen. He patted her lightly, knowing she'd hate him for it, for teasing her. She'd turn on him if he couldn't defend himself. He had to remind himself of that. She'd be nearby. She was always nearby.

Law wasn't smiling when he looked at Marco, but the Phoenix saw more of a peace in his eyes. Law wanted to know he wasn't making a mistake. Marco knew he wasn't, but that had to be shown with time. And man, of course he'd fight for survival if Law attacked him, but if it were due to something fucked-up Marco did, then Law had every right to draw his sword.

Marco had spent hours sick with self-acknowledgement of what he had done. No matter how hard he might try to couch that whole night in terms of consent, he'd known that Law rarely called on his powers when he came out of those dreams. Maybe Marco wasn't actively aware of this, but if he really asked himself, he knew he'd been relying on it.

Yes, if Law was an adult in the dreams and was suddenly woken from them, you had to watch your step. But not if he was younger in the dreams, or woke more naturally. And the nightmares so often involved seastone that the mental debilitation nearly always seeped into the physical for some time after they'd left him disoriented and unsure.

No matter how angry Marco had been, how much he thought Law owed him, how much he had convinced himself his lover had said yes, he fundamentally knew he wouldn't have tried it on if he knew Law was fully aware. At some level he knew that. So, he understood the younger man's need to put on a display now, even if it was more to convince his own self, rather than a warning. It acted as a warning anyway. As when he'd attacked Marco on the day of his sword fight with Zoro, the Phoenix had felt the current from a slight counter-shock running from those tattooed fingers when the surgeon had placed his palm against his skin. Was that the extent of their intimacy now?

Law walked a little ahead of Marco, his hand in his pocket again. Kikoku casual over his shoulder as if he were setting off on a pilgrimage. They were on again, then?

"C'mon Charlie, time for you to get ready for work." He turned and Marco knew Law could do rueful very well, and even rueful smiles, but maybe the neutral expression he wore now, not full of hope, but not seething with anger was the best they could wish for at the moment. There was no denying they got on and felt at home with one another, and had been together through a hell of a lot. And there was Misery.

Marco followed. He doubted Law would be there when he returned home that night. He had to sort things out with Robin, and the surgeon was usually meticulous. Moving back in would not be the rushed affair that leaving was. But that was doing it right. And doing it right was what Marco wanted.


	14. Conversations, Application, Devil's Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warnings: Non-con images** from after the **second oOOo** break. If you CTRL+F4, or some other search function, from "Steady." onwards, you should be fine.

**A/N: Trigger warning** s: Non-con images from after the second oOOo break. If you CTRL+F4, or some other search function, from "Steady." onwards, you should be fine.

* * *

**Chapter 14 – Conversations, Application, Devil's Dance**

* * *

Law joined Vista and Izou at the bar.

"I owe you a drink, Izou."

Izou nodded. "You owe me the whole damn bar, sweetheart."

Law looked to Vista for explanation as he pulled his stool up to the counter. The large man just shrugged. Sarah placed a round in front of them and left to wrestle with a keg.

"It's good to see you two back together." Vista flipped up his top hat, and scratched at his scalp.

Law nodded.

"What ever happened between you?" Izou was nearest Law.

The town was full of gossips.

"Assault." Law kept Izou's eye as he took the head off his beer. "It won't happen again." He sipped his beer again. "Like you said, it's between us."

"Who assaulted who?" Vista's hand curled. He hadn't been happy the day Marco had come in, black and blue, not breathing a word about where he got the bruises, but the Strawhats couldn't keep anything to themselves. Law hadn't been marked.

Law eyed Vista's hand. You needed to throw them a bone to get them off your back. He wondered if he'd get to finish this beer, or would feel the need to leave again.

"He assaulted me. I attacked in retaliation. I left. Conversation over."

Vista jerked his head backward in a motion of distrust. Izou's eyes narrowed. Still, Marco had never contradicted the Heart captain for a moment. Even if it didn't feel right to them, there was little they could do without then losing their closeness to their brother and friend – to Whitebeard's righthand man.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

Few people really knew the full extent of it, except for Luffy and Zoro, Shanks and Benn, - Nami thinking it was an overreaction to bruised skin. Robin had a pretty good idea, but Law had never painted an explicit picture for her.

They decided not to sugarcoat the truth about what had happened if anyone asked, but also not to divulge too much. They used the catchall, "assault" and Marco rightfully took the blame. It hurt Law to have to go into a more detailed explanation, and he knew it would make him question his own decisions if people's faces either drew back in disgust at Marco, or they wondered why Law hadn't been able to stop it, or wondered why the hell they were still together. Or even worse, those who would assume it was par for course and Law should have just shut up and put out, and was now manipulating Marco's weakness for him for gain.

Trixie and Carl both thought they were on the right track, and within their relationship neither man had ever been in the habit of keeping secrets from the other. This one anomaly. This one discrepancy. It was huge. They didn't discount it. Especially not Law. But they checked in with their shrinks, with one another. They were proceeding okay so far.

Robin would have supported him, no matter what he chose, and the Strawhats knew him far better than Marco. The Hearts had often been part of Shanks' ramshackle flotilla, so Penguin, Shachi and Bepo had seen their captain and the Whitebeard pirate negotiate the zig-zag paths of their partnership from its fledgling days. They figured this was another challenge for the two leaders to face together - but if worse came to worst, they'd never desert Law.

Decisions made, are ultimately made alone, and Law had had to make a number of them in his life, leading to his survival and then straight to the jaws of Hell, another Hell. He'd encountered a few underworlds in his life. He'd survived those too.

Doflamingo and others had tried to condition him to respond to their animalistic desires and mind-fucks like a whipped and beaten pet, and he'd feel and fight the effect upon him for the rest of his life. So, in his freedom, he strived internally and externally to make responsible decisions, and to take responsibility for them once made, including returning to Marco.

He took into account what he'd seen, heard and experienced, and weighed up the help and efforts both he and Marco had sought out and undertaken. It was a lot to take on when still recovering from Kid. When one of the people who could help him the most was also one of the ones who had hurt him the most. But then his whole life was one arc of recovery – recovery, not suffering, at least nowadays. And Marco had been there for him more times than he could count.

What he fundamentally knew and what was different from the other violence committed against him throughout his life, was that he he  _could_  and would leave if that time ever arose, and Kikoku would be by his side of course, as would Misery, trailing Law's grotty orange t-shirt behind her.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

He woke in the middle of the night out of a dream of tendrils rather than barbs. That was an improvement, unbelievably. Before he could relax, he heard a snuffling behind him, like a pig in a trough. Marco. He was gnawing on, chewing, marking Law's skin, leaving a trail of slime along the curve of his neck. Oh God.

"Green fucking light, Motherfucker." Law's eyes flew wide open, taking in Doflamingo cackling in the corner of their room.

Eustass chimed in, over the pink feathered freak's shoulder - when did he get so tall? "Whores can't get raped, bitch."

Law's eyes flicked between the blond sociopath and the redhead as Marco's hand slipped under the elastic of his briefs and reached down to grab his cock.  _What? Fuck no._  The skin on the calloused hands fit against his body with familiarity, but the touch was warm and sticky, almost like rancid milk. Law's breath was short, panicked. He tried to form a Room, but his arm wouldn't move. Trapped with Doflamingo's strings. His fingers bound together.

"Why would anyone genuinely love or be with you, Law? Why would they listen to you? Promises? They're made to be broken." That snarling, congenial voice turned his stomach. Doflamingo twisted his pinky in his ear, pausing to gaze at the wax on his finger. He cocked his head to the side.

"And all this talk about listening . . . listen, listen carefully, brat . . .". All Law could hear was his own heartbeat, the sound of Marco behind him. Almost a whirring sound, as if he was a chipmunk filing his teeth on Law's skin.

Doflamingo cupped his hand to his ear. "It's not Marco's voice, it's yours. Can you hear it? Green  _take-me-any-time-you-want-me_  fucking light! You give permission and then you complain, Fuck-happy Trafalgar Law?"

That cackle. Everything Law did was so amusing. 

"You always were so contrary. No wonder we had to fill you up at every opportunity to stop your complaining."

Law's breath was incredibly loud. It filled his ears like a plane taking off. Where was Marco's other hand? His throat was tight. He didn't know if he could swallow.

"Slaves can't give permission, Law," Kid whispered, wait, Doflamingo . . . no, not Marco? Him? Law's own voice? Kid in jeans? He heard a fastener being unzipped. Fingers in his hair? Marco's? The plane. The whining of the engine. The whirring of teeth.

His heart skittered. But it was a dream. It had to be a dream. It was a dream. Marco's tongue and mouth now like a thimbleful of water at the bottom of an unwashed glass, a layer of scum floating atop. Had they made him drink liquid like that at some point? Maybe he'd drunk it for survival.

Law squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Fuck. He'd trusted him.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck . . . Stupid, so fucking stupid_  . . . He'd thought he'd be able to move, use his powers. He thought he wouldn't have to use his powers, and here he was. He couldn't lift a finger. Being used. Again. That's it. He was out of there if he could get out. Gonna join some spiritual order, or live out his years as a hermit on a crag on the most isolated mountain in the world, just him and the goats conversing, bitching about Sengoku.

Misery came padding over to the bed, nails clacking and she licked his hand, fingers bound, but hanging from the bed. He could feel, that was for sure. Marco was still moving against him. Law's stomach churned in revulsion. Not at Misery. She gave a small bark. Then she lunged at Doflamingo, her teeth ripping the cloth of his capris, biting into his calf, and puncturing him.

He deflated like a balloon. Gyrating around the bedroom, but at least he was disappearing. A hydrogenized  _Fuffuffufu_  added to the aeroplane pitch, and the balloon flew out the window, madly rotating like a five legged mosquito as it grew smaller. The strings dissipated. Law wiggled his fingers.

Once she finished with Joker, she grabbed Kid and didn't let go, shaking her head back and forth in a growl. He shrunk to the size of a doll, a miniature doll. The kind you might find in a small plastic capsule from a kid's vending game outside a local shop. No bigger than the span of his thumb and pointer. She ate him. Chomped him up whole. Metal arm and all crunching against her teeth. Ha - his squeal made Law laugh. He guessed dolls didn't get a whole lot of say in their destiny either,  _bitch_.

His eyes flew open. The sounds quieted. Marco held him, but wasn't marking him. He was awake though. His face buried into his neck. His breath warm against his skin, but just breath. Just respiration. Marco noticed Law's body tensing further once he became aware his lover was there, as he should be. They'd gone to bed together. Fuck. He realised he'd been a dream protagonist.

"Steady."

Law felt the agate in his hand. Marco pushing it into his hand. Law hesitantly folded his fingers over it.

Phoenix felt his partner's heart rate peak and then gradually slow, and Law looked around their room. No-one in any corner. No metal arm. He could hear Misery chasing something in her sleep, but he hoped it was just rabbits. The window was closed. He checked through his muscles, and relaxed them. Let his body unwind. He let out a sigh, and let the fingers of his free hand move across the sheets, felt the cotton underneath them. No strings.  He slipped the agate into a pouch they kept for it, still curled in his hand. He changed sides and turned to Marco.

"Okay?"

Law nodded. Marco pulled him close.

"Can you go back to sleep?" He whispered into Law's skin, his face so close to his.

Law nodded at that too. Something new for both of them – sleeping directly after a nightmare. No tears on Law's face. The shake almost gone. The aftercare that was gladly given, but it sometimes took hours before the doctor was grounded again. Not tonight. He closed his eyes and soon Marco could tell by the way his breathing regulated that Law had actually fallen asleep. Holy fuck. This Rehearsal stuff really worked. Marco kissed his brow and joined him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer scenes involving use of the agate, and explaining it, and also exploring Law's trauma can be found in  _[Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29125485)_ in chapter [12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29126514), chapter [16](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29126877), chapter [17](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29126958), and chapter [27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766182/chapters/29128311). **Make sure** you read any warnings on those chapters.


	15. Blue Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blue scarf is bought and given.

* * *

**Chapter 15 - Blue Scarf**

* * *

The new tea-towel had made its way to their bedroom, god forbid. Law's lips curved as he tossed vegetables in the pan. He'd see how long it stayed there, pinned to the wall opposite their bed. Misery had always cried desperately when they'd locked her out of the room during sex, dear sweet dog. Well, she'd get an eyeful now, if they could handle having that travesty looking over them. Then again, her eyes were already averted to the side of the camera. He'd leave it as a surprise for Marco.

The back door slammed and Phoenix came in from walking Mercury, and Pekopeko, Luffy's dog. Thankfully the dog was more like Zoro and less like the pirate king, and it curled up in a corner after tussling with Mercury for the water bowl, spilling half of it over the floor. Law tchhed – maybe the dog had a touch of Strawhat to it after all – and returned to his cooking. One of them would clean it later.

After looping the leashes on the back handle of the side door, Marco stood behind Law, placed his hands on the tattooed man's hips, nuzzled his neck, and breathed in deeply the medicinal scent the doctor always had about him, the smell of the garden, the sweat and dirt of the day, cooking aromas, and some fusty old grandma odour. Had one of the tea-towel ladies hugged him? They were fond of him. And terrified. Law softly pressed his head back against him.

"Hands full."

"I know." His lips grazed the side of Law's face, the nape of his neck. He dropped his embrace and went to the fridge. Poured two glasses of wine.

"Did you have fun? How's Robin?" He put Law's glass on the counter nearest him.

"She's fine. Yeah, it was fun." Law reduced the heat. "I got you something." He glanced at him, before turning back to the stove.

"Oh?" Marco wondered about the gift that should have been waiting for Law at the convention. Maybe it hadn't been ready.

"On the main counter, in the paper bag." The Heart pirate turned the heat off and took the vegetables from the hotplate, served them in equal portions into two bowls. He carried them to the table. Just as well Luffy wasn't joining them. He wasn't sure if the rubber man even knew what tofu and cashews were, apart from a salted beer snack, sans the beer. And the tofu. He returned for his wine, and stood with his back to the sink as Marco adjusted the blue scarf around his neck.

"Mhm, you look quite dashing," Law drawled.

"For a change?"

"Even more than usual."

He put his wine behind him, walked to Marco, tugged on the ends of the scarf, gently, and kissed him on the lips. Marco responded.

"It suits you."

"It _is_ my colour."

"It's a shame we sometimes don't have cooler weather," Law sighed, stepping back, and wrapping it around Marco's graceful neck a few times and loosening it so it was scooped into a cowl, one of the tasselled ends spilling onto his front.

"Then you'd see a whole lot less of me, yoi."

"And I wouldn't want that."

Marco was getting on, but with his devil's fruit, who ever knew how old he truly was? He'd wear a shirt sometimes and other days he may as well not have. This was one of those days. Law understood how much loyalty the Whitebeards had to Oyaji and to the tattoo that expressed that. He placed a hand flat on the Phoenix's compact stomach and another hand slipped under the open jacket. Law spanned his fingers into the small of Marco's back.

He drew the other man to him, they almost matched, height for height and had similar builds. One of Law's long legs rested between Marco's, applying faint pressure.

"Dinner's getting cold," he whispered into his lover's ear. Kissed him lightly on the cheekbone. Turned and grabbed his wine, and headed to the table.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

 It took Marco some time to notice. Law was late to bed of course. It was Marco's night off. Sarah did a great job, and they didn't have to worry about her.

Law finally crawled onto the bed shortly after midnight, after his shower, the side lamp on until they settled. Marco sat up, finishing a trashy paperback. Law lay on his back.

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with "M."

Marco looked down at him. What was he up to now? Law rolled over. He folded his elbows and placed them on Marco's lap, and rested his head on top of them. The Whitebeard slanted his book, and absentmindedly ran his hand in Law's mildly damp hair, streaked through with grey. Not that you'd know from the way he was acting right now. His eyes snapped shut, and he almost purred in ecstasy.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm right next to you. You don't have to play games to get my attention."

"No, not Marco. M, M & M," Law murmured, pushing against Marco's palm.

"The Trinity of Ems?"

"Mmm."

"Am I one of them?"

"Unh-uh." Law's hair shook under Marco's fingers.

"It can only mean one thing, then." The older man freed his hand from the Heart pirate's black locks, and shifted his legs up, shaking them a little to get Law to move off them. Grumbling that he could have given fair warning, he rolled to the side, his jagged back tattoo - the disrupted Jolly Roger - in Marco's sight.

They really should get Law's back fixed, but Marco had got so used to seeing it now that the scarring barely registered. He put his book facedown on the side table, stepped out of the bed and walked over to the wall where his partner had hung the tea-towel that Marco had commissioned. His gift. Law, now sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, stared at him. One arm loosely behind his head.

"What in the name of all that is good and holy is this abomination?"

Marco scratched at the back of his head, and snorted looking at the jangled and jumbled dogs and designs printed onto the tea-towel. Just how he wanted it. The tacky hearts, the cheesy dog biscuits, the animals that had no clue that they were the rejects of the shelter. The un-cute animals that no-one but Law would select. The white monster of Flevance.

"Shush now, you'll hurt her feelings," Law said, crawling to the end of the bed and looking toward Mercury.

Marco looked down at the dog who wagged her tail slowly under his gaze. Then back at Law, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes alit. Three folds crossed his stomach as he relaxed in his drawstrings. The Phoenix was glad he got to see the Heart shirtless. Said man rose from the mattress and padded over.

"What in tarnation" Marco asked, turning to Law in mock indignation when he felt him behind him, "Is this?"

"Trinity almost had an apoplexy." He put his arms around Marco's waist, torso against torso, groin against arse, as he pushed into him. "It's perfect, is what it is," he whispered into Marco's ear, his chin on his shoulder. He ran his hands up Marco's chest, from behind, kissed into his neck.

"The things I have to do to get you into bed," Marco said, putting a hand behind him, touching the back of Law's head.

Law laughed. "They're appreciated." He nibbled on Marco's ear. "I hope you've had a shower."

Ah, Marco was so used to that voice, and it was just the way the doctor spoke, gravelly, low and concise, scaring the fuck out of half of his new patients, and the newer dishcloth dames – or was it them who scared Law? Whatever it was, it still turned the Phoenix on.

"Cheek. I showered as soon as I saw we were going to have an audience tonight." He dropped his arm, turned around, his head bowed slightly, but close to Law's. His hands now on the lean, heavily-tattooed body, resting on its hips. "It's _you_ who kept me waiting."

"You don't mind then?" Law looked down at him. He kissed the points he knew sometimes fired up Marco's skin, literally. A pause in Marco's breathing indicated he'd hit the spot. He had to be careful though. He'd singed his eyebrows once. "You know how much they hate to be excluded."

Marco manoeuvred Law so that he was the one pushed up against the wall, right next to the tea-towel. The Heart captain lifted his arms up and folded them in half, made fists and rested them behind his own neck, both opening his body up and giving him some support. Marco dove in, kisses along his jaw line and the dip of his neck, across his shoulders, taking in Law's scent - sweat, forming already despite having just washed. Law's underarm hair was blacker than that on the top of his head. His hand went for Law's junk.

Law brought his arms down and his fingers held either side of Marco's face, directing it upwards, getting him to look at him. "Mercury."

He stared up at him with annoyed, hooded, eyes, but he pulled back, a hand still pressing against Law. Keep talking, he thought. His lover's voice was a pool of warmth and promise.

"Go to bed," Law said thickly. "I'll join you soon. _I_ should be the one thanking _you_ for this monstrosity." And as one hand brought Marco's chin near, and brought his lips to his own in order to drive his point home, his other hand tapped the wall next to him to indicate the tea-towel.

"It's not going to stay there forever, is it?" Marco breathed as they came out of the kiss.

Law smirked and ducked away from the embrace. He sent Mercury outside into the hallway, closing the door on her. She was far less needy than Misery, probably because she hadn't experienced long periods of separation from either one of them. He and Marco had their ups and downs after Kid, but they came through. Misery probably bore the brunt of it.

Mercury was protective, but Misery had taken her defence of them, and in particular Law, as her mission in life. She was a delight, that dog, but she had been a tad overprotective. She'd start a low lying snarl if either Law or Marco was a little too vocal in bed, and she thought one of them was harming the other. Particularly as Law was usually so quiet. Marco had to steer away from her bared teeth on more than one occasion. Misery's strategy was kill the mood or be killed. But her favourite human couldn't hold it against her.

He smiled as he remembered dream-Misery piercing dream-Doflamingo and eating up shrunken Kid when he was undergoing image rehearsal therapy, and in doing so banishing them from that nightmare and their bedroom. That had been such a victory. The demons inside had been caused by the devils outside, but as he aged, it often seemed the inner tormenters wielded the greater power. To be able to defeat them, one dream at a time, was the sweetest relief. Misery might not have ever known she was pivotal in the pink bastard's defeat, but Law gave her credit. He was good at that.

He'd learned some lessons across the years from the three dogs they'd taken care of, though, and made sure that Marco's crumpled old t-shirt went with Mercury. It gave Marco some satisfaction that their third dog decided to sleep on one of his items of clothing rather than Law's. Law just thought it meant one less thing for him to wash, but admitted that her affection was touching.

* * *

**oOOo**

* * *

 "You have appalling taste, Law," Marco teased from the bed, as the younger man leant over him, landing on top of him in a frog's crouch, his calves either side of the commander's thighs. He ran his hands along the Whitebeard tattoo, following with succulent kisses, nips and a light grazing of the teeth along those articulated muscles, that fantastic firebird skin. Law's touch always alternated between tender and electrifying, sometimes terrifying.

The Heart captain's fingers were rough and calloused, a surprise considering he was a doctor. But he worked hard at the bar, gardened for his medical supplies, and sparred with Zoro on a fairly regular basis. He'd sailed the seas too, or submerged under them. It was to be expected. He wasn't shy of hard work. Speaking of Kikoku, where was that shadowy spirit? Marco liked to keep her in sight.

The contrast of the stunted nails on one of Law's hands crossing his body, and then the more complete set on the other - the ones Kizaru had let alone - smoothly following, was like sandpaper and unguent, aggravating, biting, hypnotic, cool. The flitting and fleeting tag-team of sensations Law evoked drew his mind completely away from the nodachi.

"I have appalling taste?" Law mused, easing Marco's boxers down. The older man helped him out. Law then kicked his own drawstrings off and resumed his close inspection of the peaks and valleys of the Phoenix's body.

"I know." He kneaded into the muscles around Marco's hips and lingered near his navel, before breathing into the fine line of black hairs - rather than blond - that led to his cock and balls. "And for that you should be grateful," he murmured.

Marco laughed and – as much as he was enjoying the touch – pulled Law up so they were face to face.

"I should be grateful? You cheeky runt."

Law, also laughing, leant towards him. "I'm the runt?" He liked to hold his few centimetres in height over the mighty first division commander. He pulled at his lover's lower lip lightly with his teeth, inserted his tongue in tentative foray. And then pulled out in that fucking infuriating way he had. He sat back on his heels, his naked body lightly touching Marco's bare skin. He bent forward again, hands either side of Marco's head, lips curved in delight, eyes vibrant, as he took his mouth – he liked that tea-towel _so_ much. Sex was going well if it was like this.

Law's lips were insistent but not rough on Marco's own. Marco returned the kiss, Law pulled away. Something more welcoming than a smirk on his face as before. The Phoenix loved seeing him like this. Confident, joyful, giving what he wanted to give, receiving what he wanted to receive.

Marco reached up to the back of Law's neck and pulled him closer again, their lips together, and his tongue explored the fresh, clean, promising cavities of Law's mouth. Thank god for mouthwash. The doctor let Marco swipe his own tongue – over the porous surface, teasing the frenulum, along the smoother sides – an occasional twist or lick given in response - enjoying the motions, the textures, the feelings buzzing through either man. Give and take.

They withdrew and, because Law was silent during sex, Marco savoured the shared intake of breath - the sound as they both drew in air. Passion articulated. His lover's easy grin said it all for Law. The Heart sat on Marco's body, fingers twisted in his hair. He kissed along his jawline to his ear, his tongue and mouth, his breath and intention leaving a trail, until he reached the Phoenix's ear and took the lobe between his teeth. He nibbled the soft flesh, flicking his tongue behind the helix, teasing the joint between it and the skull. Working his way upwards, he traced and shadowed the shell and spirals of the ear. Marco moaned, pliable, his hand against Law's chest. The doctor's fingers pushed into his scalp. Both men felt the swell of arousal, their own and in the body of the other.

Law pulled away. Sitting up once more. "You didn't shave, Phoenix." That contented purr on his lips.

"It's not manly, Nana. I know you love my stubble." Marco grabbed Law's hips and tipped the two of them over, the brunet now flat against the mattress, Marco above him. Law's eyes flashed with pleasure and challenge. The Whitebeard's fingers ran along Law's cheeks, and he had indeed shaved. He needed to do so less than Marco, but he always did. The Phoenix softly rubbed his cheek like a Mink against his partner's face, ensuring some kind of scrape of three o'clock shadow against the currently smooth skin. Conditioned by Bepo perhaps, Law returned the action with an animalistic instinct that melted Marco's heart. Like a bear cub. He knew that it was born of no stage of captivity or service. He made a note, as he always did, to thank Bepo and Penguin for protecting their captain across the years. Especially when he was a sixteen-year-old fleeing Doflamingo.

Marco scratched across the permanent graze on Law's cheek, the scar. A wave of cellular reaction washed over the younger man. Sometimes it was fine, sometimes the Heart invited exploration of the scar, sometimes they had to pause. "Nana," Marco whispered. He tensed, eyes narrowing briefly, as Law held his head tightly to him for a second. Marco felt the strength of the grip, and a tautness to Law's body separate from the desire flushing through it. A different sensation, different chemicals altogether.

The Phoenix stayed close, his breath dancing on Law's skin, and he waited for Law's eyes to open, or for the touch of pain to wash away from his features. They had their techniques. Marco knew Law was listening for his breath. Was counting it, and matching his own breath to it. Feeling for Marco's heartbeat, his pulse - even though both were palpitating, it was welcome, it was wanted. He felt Law's hand against his heart, and he knew it was for grounding, not for extraction.

"Arsehole." Law finally spoke, his voice deep with relief and affection. He put his hand at the back of Marco's neck now, and he moved his chin while Marco's face was close so that he felt the tickle of his goatee against his own. Both men breathed regularly again, entwined, and the Phoenix tenderly kissed Law's mouth. The younger man still had his eyes closed. He exhaled into Marco's mouth, and then responded with gentle bites to the inner lip, and opened his own mouth wider so the Phoenix could explore in ways that had nothing to do with the graze on his face, nothing to do with the marine monsters who gave it to him.

"Just what were you planning to do tonight you pirate scoundrel?" Marco asked after pulling away, and then pushing Law down. Law grabbed at Marco's head, raising himself from the bed to do so, placing a kiss on his lips, before sinking back into the mattress, wanting to draw the man into his enjoyment and safety. To show his gratitude.

Marco's fingers trailed down Law's front, lips following. The black ink felt minimally different, slightly raised from the skin around it, but Law only ever knew Marco was working on his tattoos due to the direction his touches took.

"I was intent on admiring the crown jewel of my collection." Law's voice a low growl.

Marco smiled against Law's skin, feeling the heat of his body, the rise of his flesh, a little rankled about being considered something owned, but knowing Law's background, he knew he was kidding. Autonomy was key between them.

"Does it involve polishing?" Marco had drawn himself up the bed, and was near the curve of Law's neck again now, his body hunched above Law's own, and no, they still didn't mark, but small grazes of teeth across the skin hardly qualified.

Law's grin broadened. Marco made short work of his nipples now, his hand occasionally brushing over his dick, cupping his balls. The younger man loosely wrapped a leg over the Phoenix's body, his heel pushing into his lower back, pressing down to bring them closer. To give Marco some friction, some pressure.

"Lick, spit and polish, all guaranteed." Law's eyes slit open. So much potential fun contained in the grey.

"And grind?"

Oh God, that was the tongue. Law inhaled sharply.

"And grind. . ." His voice shook. He coughed. "Definitely grind."

Just as well Misery had her eyes averted, Law thought, staring at the tea towel where only poor, sick, Mephistopheles looked at the camera. She'd been so ill, she probably wouldn't even be able to see this far in the same way that Marco's bobbing blond head and broad shoulders were somewhere in Law's vision, but the physical sensation was really the only thing blowing and occupying his mind at that moment.

"Good to hear," Marco said, after pulling off for a second, "Though I want more than spit if we're grinding." He loved seeing Law's rapt face, eyes closed, arm crooked above his head, the wide curve of his enticing lips following Marco's words. Listening, but unable to respond. Lube was always somewhere nearby. They'd never finish if Law got into one of his giggling fits though. So he felt a jolt of satisfaction as Law's back arched when he ducked back down, and took more of him into his mouth.

Law would return the favour in a short while, and for now let Marco know how much he loved the consideration, being in the bed, the house, the life of the other, by reaching a hand down and gripping his hair in the way he liked, his fingers pressing into his scalp, and by pushing down with just a little more force his foot on his back. Marco could tell by how relaxed yet aroused Law was that he was enjoying it. Still.

He pulled off again. Law groaned. "Okay?" Marco asked, placed a hand on Law's quivering abdomen, the other by his groin, keeping warmth, potential alive by holding it there. Law put his tattooed hand over Marco's and gave it a squeeze. His face was blissed out. He wouldn't be okay if the Phoenix didn't finish though.

"Fuck yeah."

Embracing vulgarity had its benefits after all.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **And you'll just have to imagine the rest!** I hope you enjoyed the story, and/or found it interesting. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are most welcome, and thanks very much to those who have given them ♥
> 
> In a real life situation, I'm hoping that these two either would have got a lot of help and support, or Law just would have got the heck out of the relationship. It's not a fic I ever thought I was going to write, but it does inform a lot of the background of the other pieces in the series, so it has been restored to its original chapter length with almost the same content.
> 
>  **Note: Dec 8, 2018:** The Vivre Cards have come out with Marco's height, and he's got 12cm on Law. When I started writing these two, a post on Oro Jackson had Marco at about 184 cm, which I prefer. I initially wrote Marco taller, and readjusted everything. Now, it seems I need to go the other way! BUT, I'll just leave author notes instead. It's always an AU anyway.


End file.
